


City of Angels

by PennyLane



Category: Angel: the Series, Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-12-13 22:50:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PennyLane/pseuds/PennyLane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angel the Series/Crossover with Good Omens. When Aziraphale drags Crowley to a ‘special’ book shop in Los Angeles, they both unexpectedly meet two acquaintances from their pasts. And it’s a good thing they do when Aziraphale is poisoned by someone from Down Under and Angel Investigations may be his only hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	City of Angels

"You know, when I said we should check out the night life in LA, this wasn't exactly what I meant, angel." Crowley made a point of adjusting his sunglasses, but he didn't put too much of a grumble into his voice. After all, if there was one thing he'd learned after spending six millennia in and around Aziraphale's company, it was that no book shop was safe from his never-ending curiosity and love of all things dusty. And besides he only had himself to blame. He was the one who persuaded Aziraphale to leave his precious bookstore in London and come to California with him. After all, he'd said, if he was in the United States wreaking all sorts of havoc and tempting Americans right, left and center, how would the angel meet his thwarting quota in England? In the end, he'd prevailed, but Aziraphale had gotten his quota of revenge by dragging him into every dusty, moldy, run-down book shop in Los Angeles. And the one they were currently standing in front of looked to be the dustiest, moldiest and most run-down of them all.

But the angel was staring at the store front with rapture in his blue eyes. "This is it," he breathed, placing a hand on Crowley's arm. "Crowley, this is the most remarkable shop, and the owner is a very interesting fellow in his own right." He turned twinkling eyes in the demon's direction. "I think even you may find a thing or two of interest in here."

Crowley highly doubted it, but merely grunted and waved him ahead. As soon as they walked through the door, the smell of aged paper and incense filled his nostrils, and the little bell that tinkled overhead was a perfect match for the one in the angel's own shop. There was a definite 'feel' to this shop that had been lacking in all the other places Aziraphale had dragged him to, and he stayed warily back and watched as the angel approached an ancient Asian man behind a counter piled high with books and with an old-fashioned cash register on top. He was completely bald, dressed in robes of muted colors, and Crowley could see tattoos on his matchstick thin arms and wrists where the sleeves didn't cover. The man turned to face Aziraphale and Crowley's eyebrows lifted as he saw the man's eyes were milky white and he was quite obviously blind.

The angel inclined his head and the man bowed back, and Crowley listened idly as the two exchanged polite pleasantries in Mandarin. Then suddenly that white, blind stare was aimed directly at him, and Crowley froze. After a moment he forced himself to relax and stare back behind his sunglasses as he knew the angel would have never bring him anywhere he would be in danger. His Mandarin might be a little rusty, but he got the gist of what the Asian said to Aziraphale in a sharp tone. 'What is the meaning of bringing a serpent into my sanctuary blah blah blah.'

Crowley began edging toward the door. If this was going to be a problem, he could always wait outside. He didn't want to cause Aziraphale any trouble. Well, not today at any rate. There was always plenty of time for that. Besides, Los Angeles at night was such a perfect breeding ground for all sorts of tempting. Really, it was almost too easy. A whisper here, a suggestion there, and you had all sorts of mayhem breaking loose. 'City of Angels' indeed. Whoever bestowed that particular epithet on this place should see it now. He'd have to remember to remind Aziraphale of that… He had barely taken a step back when a strong hand landed on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. While he had been musing over all the lovely tempting awaiting him outside, the angel had moved to stand beside him and was now anchoring him in place. 

Crowley listened as Aziraphale said something to the shop owner in a _very_ firm voice, and he wondered with a start if his confidence about the angel not bringing him somewhere he would be in danger might have been misplaced. But Aziraphale was still talking, and he seemed a little – no, a _lot_ – taller all of a sudden and was even starting to glow. Oh crap. This wasn't good. A few more words were exchanged, sharp on the shopkeeper's side, uncompromising on the angel's, and then the Asian inclined his head in apparent agreement. The angel's hand relaxed its rather painful grip on his shoulder, and Aziraphale turned to him with a bright smile that couldn't quite hide the relief behind it.

"Well, that's settled," he said cheerfully.

"And exactly what was sssettled, angel?" 

Aziraphale had the grace to look a little apologetic. "I had to vouch for your good behavior, and I would appreciate it if you would oblige, my dear. I really would like to be able to return to this shop in the future."

Before he knew it, the angel had slipped an arm through his and was steering him back through the store. "Just how much danger was I in?" Crowley hissed, throwing a venomous look over his shoulder at the shopkeeper. 

Aziraphale waved a hand vaguely, "Oh, there were a few wards throughout the shop that would have given you a bit of, er, discomfort."

"Oh, really? Like the bursting into flames type of discomfort? Or being sprayed by holy water discomfort?"

"Don't be so dramatic, Crowley," the angel admonished, but Crowley noticed he didn't deny it. Angels didn't lie -- most of the time -- but he'd discovered that Aziraphale had learned how to avoid, sidestep, circumvent and ignore as well as any human when it came to the truth.

"But that's all taken care of now, _right_?"

"Absolutely," Aziraphale said airily and gave his arm a reassuring pat. "You're very safe as long as you're with me." Before Crowley could reply to that, the angel broke into a delighted smile. "Oh, the prophecy section!" He was left standing in the middle of the store, abandoned, as Aziraphale drifted off into a maze of bookshelves.

"Right," he muttered to himself and turned around, wondering what the angel thought was going to interest him in this dusty old firetrap. After a few moments of aimless wandering, the sight of an open display case along a wall caught his eye and he walked over to have a look. Inside the beautifully carved wooden case lined with velvet, rested a sword. Crowley frowned at it for a long moment, then reached out and touched it. And then he picked it up. Surely that old man wouldn't have gotten his hands on… "I'll be damned," he whispered in something like awe. There was no mistaking it, the feel of the metal, the weight of it in his hand, the way the grip fit just so when he tightened his fingers, the no-nonsense design. "Flemish," he murmured. "Fifteenth century." A flood of memories came rushing back, and he snorted, remembering how neither he nor Aziraphale had wanted to do time in Flanders. For him it was a waste of time to try to corrupt a people so stolid and dull in their lives and beliefs; and aside from the art and tapestries, Aziraphale apparently never found much to interest him either. Even their civil war had been boring. He carefully replaced the sword in its velvet cradle and turned to go in search of other prizes.

He'd just picked up a very fine Scottish Claymore and was reminiscing about Culloden -- Charlie had just been too easy, but then so had been most of those Stuarts -- with a side trip to the beginning of Aziraphale's love affair with tartan, when he heard voices on the other side of one of the massive bookshelves. He continued to examine the hilt of the sword when an unearthly disturbance in the air made him go still. It was very faint, but it was there. 

"If Cordelia finds out I've brought you here when you're supposed to be back at your place resting --"

"Are you planning to tell her?" a man asked in a distinct English accent.

"No, but you know how she finds things out. How _does_ she find things out?" the first man asked plaintively. "I mean, she knew about that Makarri demon, and we didn't tell her about that."

The second man sounded unconcerned. "Well, if she asks about this, I for one plan to deny everything, angel."

Crowley froze, the sword almost dropping from his suddenly nerveless fingers. An angel? Here? No. Fuckin'. Way. What were the _odds_?

"Well, do me a favor, and just get the book you came here for, Wesley, and let's get back home."

"I could have driven myself you know," the Englishman said, perhaps a little miffed that he wasn't going to be able to linger and browse.

"Not on a motorcycle," the first man growled, "and not with a concussion, and you can't even use your left hand yet." Very quietly replacing the sword back in its display case, Crowley heard a sigh. "Look, I know you've been spending your nights researching that prophecy, and I appreciate it, but in case you've forgotten, you had a building fall on you not that long ago, and you're supposed to be taking it easy. So just get the book, all right? Then I'll take you home. Besides," the man's tone turned thoughtful, "this place gives me the creeps."

"I suppose the particular…vibes of this shop would be something you're sensitive to, but I have cleared you with Mr. Wu, so you're in no danger. I'll be as quick as I can."

Crowley heard footsteps fading away, and then he silently turned to make his way to the entrance. Aziraphale would just have to browse on his own. One angel in this place was enough. But as he turned around he found himself facing a tall man with dark, brooding eyes who was blocking his path and was poised to fight. After a moment, Crowley gave a little bark of laughter. "Well, well, well. It's been a long time, Angelus."

"The name's Angel," the vampire growled. 

"Yes, I heard about that," he said pleasantly. "Those Gypsies, they sure know how to throw a curse, don't they? You have to admire that about them."

Angelus refused to take the bait. "What are you doing here, Crowley?"

Crowley leaned casually against a bookcase, relaxing now that he knew he was in no danger, and took his time studying Angelus before answering. He'd crossed paths with Angelus and his mad little family a few times back in the day, but he'd really had nothing to do with him. Angelus had damned himself with no help from Crowley, and truth be told, some of the stuff he and his consort had gotten up to had turned his stomach. Still, they'd been on the same side back then, and he wondered what side Angelus was on now that he'd gotten a soul. "Shopping," he said cheerfully. "So you're hanging out with humans now? Is he breakfast, lunch or dinner? Or is he more of a midnight snack --"

He barely got the words out before he was slammed into the bookcase, a cold hand wrapped around his throat. "You stay away from him, Crowley," he snarled. "Or I'll show you what hell really is."

Crowley gazed calmly into the blazing brown eyes. "I have no interest in your little pet human, Angelus." A sudden, slippery movement from him, and Angelus was the one pinned up against the bookcase with a hand around his neck as Crowley hissed, "But it'sss not polite to threaten your eldersss, vampire. You'd do well to remember that."

As they glared at each other, the human called Wesley called out from nearby, "Angel! You'll never believe who I ran into here of all places!"

Crowley and Angelus sprang apart as if they'd been burned, and when Wesley turned the corner with a bemused Aziraphale in tow, they looked as innocent as if they'd been having casual conversation. That lasted for all of an instant. Crowley could sense Angelus tense at the very same moment Aziraphale went still, his blue eyes blazing and his mouth tightening in determination. _Oh, crap_. It didn't matter if Angelus had a soul or not; all the angel would sense was that the creature before him was a demon, and there was a human in danger. Aziraphale was _very_ good at exorcising demons, and Crowley had witnessed him go up against some pretty stubborn ones in his time. The angel looked and acted the part of bookseller and shopkeeper so well that it was easy to fall into the trap of thinking of him like that; especially as the two of them had formed an Arrangement that had gradually evolved into an unexpected friendship over the last few thousand years. They shared dinners, got drunk together, fed the ducks in St. James' Park and generally enjoyed each other's company, at least most of the time. Aziraphale could be a stubborn little bastard sometimes, but that was one of the reasons Crowley thought he was worth liking. But shopkeeper was only Aziraphale's human form. He was a Principality. An Angel from On High. He'd had a flaming sword (at one time) and was Guardian of the Eastern Gate. He could be very impressive when he put his mind to it. And he was certainly putting his mind to it at the moment. 

As the human took a step toward Angelus, Aziraphale grabbed his arm and pulled him firmly back, placing himself squarely between them. "Stay behind me, my boy," he said firmly. Angelus had looked like he was about to bolt, but when Aziraphale pulled Wesley behind him he changed his mind and looked like he was going to go for the angel's throat instead. Aziraphale had raised his hand and Crowley saw his wings were about to burst forth in all their glory. Snarling a bitter blessing, he threw himself between the angel and Angelus.

As he expected, Aziraphale turned on him in a righteous fury. "Step out of the way, Crowley," he thundered. "Do not interfere."

"If you do this, you're going to regret it," Crowley said, keeping his voice calm. He and Aziraphale had done battle countless times in the past, before the Arrangement came into being. It had never been pleasant, and they usually inflicted some serious damage on each other, and he really didn't want it to come to that today. Actually, he didn't care one way or another if Angelus was reduced to a pile of ash, but Aziraphale would take it hard when he learned he'd actually off'd a being on his side.

"What's going on?" The lone human in the company had finally found his voice and was trying to get out from behind Aziraphale. "Mr. Fell, what are you doing? Angel is my friend!"

"A word, _Mr. Fell_ ," Crowley said urgently. He jerked his head to the side, silently asking Aziraphale to step away with him.

Crowley could see Aziraphale's jacket settle in the back as he withdrew his wings, but as Crowley gingerly took his arm to lead him away, the angel hissed, "So help me, serpent, if this is a trick --"

"No trick," he said grimly. "Just trying to stop you from doing something you'll regret."

Aziraphale wheeled around to face him, eyes blazing. "That is a vampire, Crowley. There is a demon inside that body making it walk, talk, and kill humans. And there is a human in danger at this very moment."

"You're partly right." Crowley glanced over his shoulder where Angelus and the human were staring at them, Wesley with a look of confusion on his face and Angelus looking grim. He turned back to Aziraphale. "That's Angelus," he said quietly.

The angel gave him a look of horror which instantly turned to rage. "How dare you interfere --"

"Aziraphale, _think_ ," he snapped. "It was a hundred years ago or so. Think about what you heard about him."

The angel was still seething with fury, but Crowley saw him casting his mind back to what for them was a blink of an eye. "I heard something about…" Aziraphale frowned. "There was a curse, wasn't there? Gypsies?" He frowned a little deeper, then his eyes widened. "He has a soul," he gasped. "He's a vampire with a soul."

Crowley nodded, relieved to have finally gotten through to him. "That's right, angel. The Gypsies got a good laugh with that one, but it was considered quite a defeat for our side. Believe it or not, he's one of yours now."

"Certainly not!"

He shrugged. "I was the one who had to file the report. I was ordered to keep an eye on him for a while to see if there was any chance of getting him back, but no luck. He's definitely one of yours." He smiled thinly. "If it makes you feel any better he offered to rip my head off if I so much as looked at his human."

Aziraphale looked troubled as he gazed over to the pair. "I never met Angelus," he murmured. "He always seemed one step ahead of me. But I did see the results of some of his…work. I came across a convent in France once. The bodies were still warm."

The angel looked so distressed at the memories that Crowley patted him awkwardly on the arm. "Long time ago, angel," he said briskly. 

Aziraphale shook himself and agreed. "Yes, of course. I nearly made a dreadful mistake here. Thank you, my dear, for stopping me in time."

The angel had absolutely no problem with thanking him or praising him (on those few occasions when he did something the angel found praise-worthy), but it always made Crowley want to squirm, and he quickly changed the subject. "You know that human?"

"Oh, yes." Aziraphale brightened. "I've known him since he was a lad. Such a polite little boy he was, and very smart. He and his father would come into my shop on their book-buying trips to London." A thoughtful look came over his face and he hummed. "Ah," he murmured to himself. "Something else I'd forgotten. Of course, it all makes sense now."

"You holding conversations with yourself now?"

"Just putting the final pieces together," Aziraphale said with something of a smug smile. "I suppose we'd better get over there and try to smooth things over, shall we?"

Before Crowley could ask him what he was talking about, he found himself taken by the arm and steered back to where Angelus and the human were waiting for them. Aziraphale's benign smile seemed to relax Wesley somewhat, but the vampire looked like he was still prepared to bolt or fight. 

"Well," Aziraphale said brightly, "that was a bit of a mix-up. My apologies. So, Wesley, you were about to introduce me to your friend."

"You know this guy, Wesley?" Angelus asked, his glare never moving from Aziraphale .

"Oh, yes, I've known Mr. Fell for years. He runs the most interesting bookshop in London. My father used to take me there. Mr. Fell, this is my employer, Angel."

"Employer? You work together? I see." Aziraphale and Angel nodded warily at each other, but neither one offered to shake hands. The angel drew Crowley forward, "And this is my colleague, Anthony Crowley. Crowley, this is Wesley Wyndam-Pryce."

Wesley politely put out his hand to shake Crowley's, but Angelus's hand shot out and gripped his wrist. "Angel, what --?"

"He doesn't shake hands, do you, Mr. Crowley?"

Crowley smiled easily. "No, I don't."

The human turned to Angelus. "You've met before?"

"Once or twice," Angelus answered brusquely.

"How is your father, Wesley? I haven't seen him for some time." Aziraphale changed the subject smoothly, but something in his voice made Crowley slide him a sideways look. Buried in the pleasant tone was something else that wasn't quite as pleasant, but he doubted anyone else could have heard it.

"He's well, thank you." That seemed to be all Pryce was going to say on the subject of his father, but his face suddenly lit up. "I remember when I was ten years old and we came into your shop. It was nearly Christmas, and the most remarkable thing happened."

"Really? And what was that, my boy?" 

Crowley had to look away and bite his lip. Whatever it was, the angel remembered it well enough and was basking a little bit. 

Wesley turned to Angelus. "You'd have to understand, my father never allowed me to purchase frivolous books."

"Such as classical novels," Aziraphale clarified, still with that underlying note in his tone.

"My father considered my education at school to be sufficient for that type of reading," Wesley explained, but he sounded like he was repeating something from rote, something that had been drummed into him for a long time. "But on this visit, he bought me a first edition of _David Copperfield_." The human's eyes were shining at the memory. "I've never forgotten that. It was perhaps the most wonderful present I'd ever received."

Aziraphale smiled serenely and murmured, "I'm delighted it brought you so much pleasure, Wesley."

"Yes," Crowley said dryly, "imagine a man who never bought novels suddenly deciding to buy an expensive first edition of Dickens for you. Why, it's almost a…miracle." He almost choked on the last word as Aziraphale's elbow found his ribs. For the angel to part with one of his beloved first editions, not to mention orchestrating the transaction, meant this human must have been something of a special case to him.

"It's such a pleasure seeing you again, my boy. I trust you're doing well? And in a profession you enjoy?"

That seemed a rather odd question, even for Aziraphale, and Crowley decided the angel was going to tell him the story about this human over their next meal. Angelus apparently thought it was an odd question too because he was watching Aziraphale closely, a look of deep suspicion in his eyes. 

Stepping behind Aziraphale so he didn't go nearer to the human and set Angelus off again, Crowley walked to the vampire's side. "Why don't we let these two reminisce a bit," he suggested, "and we can catch up. There are a few things we should probably discuss."

Angelus turned to Pryce and said, "I'll be right over there," by way of reassurance to a man who was obviously confused as to why he should need reassurance. Then he turned and led Crowley far enough away so they were out of earshot. "Your friend. He's not human," Angelus said flatly.

"And that makes three of us," Crowley responded with a shrug. Yanking Angelus's chain felt _good_. "Oh, lighten up, Angelus. He's no danger to you or your little human. You might even say he's on the side of the angels, just like you."

"And what would the likes of you be doing hanging around with someone 'on the side of the angels'?"

"What are you doing hanging around with humans if you're not eating them?" Crowley countered.

Angelus gave him a dark look from under his heavy brow. "Give me one good reason why I should believe a minion from Hell."

Crowley smiled easily. "This minion from He -- Down There has been around a lot longer than you, Angelus. You might want to remember that." He adjusted his tinted glasses. "Look, I have no interest in you or your human --" At the soft growl from Angelus, he sighed. "Pryce," he amended. "We came here so Mr. Fell could buy some books, and then we'll be leaving." He shrugged. "No harm, no foul. You go your way and we'll go ours." He turned his head to look at Aziraphale and Pryce, who were engaged in a spirited conversation and obviously enjoying themselves. "In the meantime, let them have their fun." He studied Pryce with his bruises and bandages and the stiff way he was holding himself, and slid a sly look at Angelus. "You're not taking very good care of your human, are you?" The vampire didn't answer, but Crowley saw he'd hit the mark. Pryce raised a hand to rub tenderly at his temple, wincing as if fighting a headache, and an instant later Aziraphale had raised his hand and gently touched the side of the human's head, speaking rapidly to distract him. 

Angelus took a step forward, "What's he --?"

Crowley grabbed his arm and made sure he felt the warning prickle of claws. That was really the only kind of warning a creature like Angelus would understand. "He's not hurting him. Look." He snorted. "He's such a do-gooder."

"Did he just -- did he just _heal_ Wesley?"

"Just gave him a bit of relief, I think," he said, noting how the pinched look had left the human's face. He felt Angelus relax under his touch and removed his hand. 

"What _is_ he?"

Crowley gave the vampire an amused look. "He's the real thing…Angel." He sighed in resignation and heard Angelus do the same as Aziraphale and Pryce, still talking animatedly, headed toward a section filled with dusty old books. It was going to be a long night.

 

"I think those should help you on your way, my boy," Aziraphale told Pryce, indicating the armful of books the human now held.

Pryce turned toward Angelus, his face looking a lot less pinched and tired and his eyes glowing with excitement and admiration. "Mr. Fell has the most complete and amazing collection of prophecies I've ever come across, Angel. He's pointed out several books that I'm sure will be of immense help in our…research."

"So I see," Angel said, eyeing the lot rather gloomily. "What's all this going to cost?"

"Angel, you can't put a price on the research we need to do," Pryce told him solemnly. Which was just another way of saying Angelus was about to take a hit in his wallet, Crowley thought, with a smirk. Tight bastard. 

"Right," Angel sighed. "Well, let's get these paid for."

Wesley juggled the books in his arms, trying to extend his right hand to Aziraphale, but the angel laid his hand on Wesley's bandaged one instead, and Crowley knew there was a little surreptitious healing going on there. "I'm so glad we ran into each other again, Wesley. Good luck in your ventures."

"I can't thank you enough for all your help, Mr. Fell. You've saved me a great deal of time and effort."

"Nonsense, my boy, it was my pleasure. And if you're in London again, please stop into the shop. I'm sure I have some books there that would interest you."

Pryce's smile widened. "I'm sure you do."

As Pryce and a resigned Angelus headed off to pay for their purchases, Crowley said, "You know, I'm going to have to do a whole lot of tempting to even things up now, angel."

"Now, now, my dear, this was a special circumstance. I'd completely lost touch with young Master Pryce and I had quite a bit of time to make up for." He patted Crowley on the arm. "Now, what about that dinner?"

"The one you're paying for, you mean. And the one over which you're going to tell me what's so interesting about young Master Pryce." He continued over the angel's objections, "But before I take us to the most expensive restaurant I can find in this town, I want to show you something." It was his turn to take Aziraphale by the elbow and steer him across the shop. 

"You found something of interest?" Aziraphale asked with a delighted smile.

"Found something that just might interest you, angel." He stopped in front of a beautifully carved ivory case and lifted the lid for Aziraphale to look inside. There was no way this could be _the_ sword, at least no way that Crowley could imagine, but it was such a perfect replica of Aziraphale's flaming sword that it had rooted Crowley to the spot when he'd seen it. He had never seen another sword like it, and where the old man had ever gotten something like this, Crowley couldn't imagine. The gasp Aziraphale gave told him the angel was as stunned as he'd been.

"My word," the angel breathed. "It can't possibly --"

"No, it can't," Crowley agreed. "But look at it. Isn't this _exactly_ like --"

"Yes. Yes, it is." Aziraphale looked around guiltily. "Do you think I could touch it?"

Crowley shrugged. "I've been picking up weapons all over the place and nothing's happened yet."

"Well, then." With a look of rapturous awe on his face, the angel carefully lifted the sword from its case and gripped both hands around the handle. He should have looked ridiculous, standing in the middle of a bookstore in his tweed and tie, holding a sword in front of him with both hands, but somehow he didn't. He actually looked rather magnificent, although Crowley would have ripped out his tongue rather than ever say that. "It's much too light, of course, and the balance is all wrong, but the workmanship is magnificent. Where do you suppose he got it?"

"Don't know. You can ask him if you like."

Aziraphale lowered his voice to a whisper. "Do you suppose it's for sale?"

There hadn't been any price tags on anything Crowley had investigated, and he was more than reasonably sure that the angel wouldn't be able to afford it anyway.

Aziraphale changed his stance, braced his legs, and made a few impressive swishes through the air with the sword. Really, Crowley thought with some admiration, all that was missing was the fire. The angel had always been a lot better with swords than he had, even if he hadn't been able to hold onto the one really good one he'd had.

"Oh, this brings back memories, Crowley," Aziraphale murmured.

"Mmm," Crowley agreed, trying not to remember the feel of wet, cold ground under his stomach. Those kinds of memories he could do without.

The angel held the sword up to the light, frowning. "There seems to be a nick in the blade…" He gently touched a spot on the blade with his thumb, then hissed as he immediately jerked it away and stuck it in his mouth. "That hurt," he mumbled around his thumb.

Crowley rolled his eyes and took the sword from him. "You know, you never used to be this clumsy with your swords." He ran his finger lightly over the blade seeking out the flaw. "How did you ever cut your finger on this? It's as dull as a butter knife."

"I beg to differ." Aziraphale pulled his thumb out of his mouth and there was indeed blood oozing from what looked like a glorified paper cut.

"Well, heal it up before you get blood over the floor. Or worse, my clothes." Crowley replaced the sword in its case and turned around in time to see Aziraphale suddenly sag against the counter. "You never used to faint at the sight of blood either."

"Sorry," Aziraphale mumbled, shaking his head as if to clear it. "I felt somewhat lightheaded there for a moment. I can't imagine what happened." With an obvious effort, he straightened, but loosened his tie and took some deep breaths. "There. That's better. I think we should --" He broke off as his face went white and his knees buckled.

"Hey!" Crowley grabbed him to steady him and could feel the tremors in his body. "What's wrong with you?" he demanded, openly worried now. 

"I don't know." Aziraphale's left hand was gripping his right and he was practically gasping for breath. "Pain."

"Where?"

"My hand. My arm…seems to be spreading."

Crowley grabbed the angel's right hand and turned it so he could see the cut left by the sword. He took one look at it and blessed all the angels in heaven. The glorified paper cut was now angry and swollen with black lines trailing away from it, spreading out like a spider web; the lines had already trailed down Aziraphale's thumb and were greedily moving toward to his hand. "You've been poisoned," he said tersely. 

"What?' Aziraphale was blinking his eyes rapidly, as if trying to focus. "How?"

It could only be one thing. With his hands full of swaying angel, Crowley twisted around to look at the sword he'd replaced in the display case. "Oh, fuck," he whispered, his heart sinking. There were sigils covering the whole blade of the sword now; sigils that hadn't been visible before, most likely activated by the angel's blood. Suddenly Aziraphale gave a sharp cry of pain, and Crowley very nearly lost his grip on him. He managed to wrap his arms around the angel and they both went down hard, Crowley having the breath knocked out of him and Aziraphale curling into a tight ball, moaning. As Crowley tried to ease him onto his back, he sensed movement nearby, and caught the distinct scent of brimstone. 

Footsteps thundered on the floorboards, and Pryce and Angelus rounded a bookcase, alerted no doubt by Aziraphale's cries. "Mr. Fell!" Pryce gasped. "What happened?"

As Pryce knelt down beside the obviously distressed angel, Crowley snapped, "Stay with him," and was gone in an instant, following the trail of brimstone like a bloodhound on a scent. In his case, a rabid bloodhound quite happy to rip out the throat of the creature he was tracking. There was the shimmer of movement behind an overflowing bookcase, and in less time than it took a human to blink, Crowley was there, his claws holding a squirming creature tight in his grasp. 

"Grisssssil," he hissed. "You worthless little piece of ssssshit. What are you doing up here? Who ssssent you?" Crowley gave the smaller demon, a demon of such low rank he was just above an imp, a shake that made his head bounce against the wall. 

"Oww! C'mon, Crawly, you know me," the demon whimpered. "I just do what I'm told!"

Grissil was an errand boy, Crowley knew that. He was stupid, but dependable, which was why he was often sent top side to make deliveries. He tightened his hand around Grissil's scrawny neck and snarled, "Who sssent you?" 

The little demon looked terrified. "He'll kill me if I tell!"

Crowley gave his head a shake, sending his glasses flying, and gave Grissil a good look at his eyes. "What do you think I'll do to you if you don't?"

Grissil tried to swallow, but it was impossible with Crowley squeezing his neck. "Hastur," he rasped.

"Hastur?" Duke of Hell. Thoroughly unpleasant fellow. Someone Crowley tried to avoid at all costs. Crowley gave the little demon another sharp shake. "He sent you up here with that sword, didn't he? He put out a hit on Aziraphale. Why?" Not even a Duke of Hell put out a hit on an angel lightly. And why now? It wasn't as if the angel was causing major problems for Down Below. 

"He don't tell me why," Grissil whined. "You know that."

Crowley pushed his face right up to Grissil's, letting the little demon get a close-up look at his sharp teeth. "He may not tell you, but you hear things." Once again he gave the demon in his grip a shake. "Now talk before I start removing parts you probably want to keep."

"Can't -- talk --" Grissil gasped.

Crowley relaxed his grip just enough to let him speak. "Said he…wanted to get two…with one stone. Said the angel was a good influence on you. Wanted to get the angel out of the way…and teach you a lesson."

"Teach me --" Stunned, Crowley very nearly loosened his grasp enough to let Grissil slip through his fingers, but tightened them just in time, letting his claws dig into the scaly flesh around his neck. Hastur had gone after Aziraphale because of him. "The sword was a trap," he said flatly. "Hastur knew he'd go for it."

The other demon shrugged. "Had it made special, didn't he? Said there was no way the angel could pass it up." He grinned suddenly, yellow eyes glittering with malice. "Wait 'til I tell him you're the one showed it to him. He'll get a laugh outta --"

"What makesss you think you're going to be able to tell Hastur anything, after I rip out your tongue?"

"You won't do that," Grissil said with a show of bravado. "'Cause Hastur sent me. I'm under his protection."

"Hastur wouldn't lift an eyebrow to protect you," Crowley sneered. "Mission accomplished, Grissil. You poisoned the angel. Now you're going to tell me how to _un_ poison him."

Grissil must have seen some of the desperation in Crowley's eyes because he was growing more confident by the moment. "You don't really think I know anything about that kind of magic? That stuff's levels above me, Crawly, and you know it. It's well above your level too, ain't it?" Crowley grew colder as the truth of that statement sank in. "My job was to follow the angel and when the opportunity presented…" Grissil shrugged as well as he could with Crowley still holding him tight. "Then report back."

Crowley would have cheerfully disemboweled the creature he held captive, but it would have done nothing except give vent to his fury. Grissil was of no consequence; every time he was sent top side on a delivery he was considered as dispensable as a used tissue, and no tears would be shed Down Below if he never returned. He had accomplished his mission, as he had accomplished so many in the past, and this time Crowley had actually played an unwitting part in it. Hastur would laugh himself sick.

"Get out of my sssight," Crowley hissed, releasing him and tossing him aside, "before I rip you to pieces."

Grissil wasted no time in dancing out of Crowley's reach, pausing only long enough to look back and say scornfully, "Hastur was right about you, Crawly. You have gone soft." Then he took to his heels.

But Crowley wasn't listening or watching. He was already on his feet and speeding back to Aziraphale. The angel was still on the floor with the human by his side, and Pryce was gripping the angel's hand tightly, talking to him, trying to keep him focused. Angelus was on his feet and had obviously sensed the presence of another demon in the vicinity because he had a sword in his hand and he looked prepared to use it. Crowley dropped down by Aziraphale's side, opened his mouth, and then realized there wasn't anything he could possibly say. He was a demon. It wasn't in his nature to apologize, or offer comfort, or to show concern. Of course, it wasn't in his nature to feel friendship either, or affection, or to be experiencing the kind of paralyzing panic he was feeling at the moment over the fate of someone who was supposed to be an Enemy.

Aziraphale must have sensed his presence and turned his head in his direction. "Crowley?" It was a request for information.

Crowley finally found his voice. "Hastur," he said shortly.

"Hastur?" The angel tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace of pain. "I didn't know he cared."

"Will someone please tell me what's going on?"

There was a strange note in Pryce's voice that caught Crowley's attention and he looked across at the human, who was staring at him with hard eyes.

"My dear," Aziraphale admonished in a painful whisper, "your glasses."

Crowley hissed in annoyance and immediately his eyes were once again shielded behind dark lenses. But the damage had been done, and he could see Pryce's hand edging toward his pocket.

"He won't hurt you." Somehow Aziraphale managed to lift his arm enough to snag Pryce's hand. "He's my friend."

Pryce didn't take his eyes off Crowley. "You're friends with a _demon_?"

"Oh, hark who's talking," Crowley snapped as Angelus moved smoothly to stand behind the human, his sword poised to do damage to anyone who even looked like they were going to make a move toward Pryce.

A sudden, tight grip on Crowley's arm made him immediately turn his attention back to Aziraphale, who was straining to speak above a whisper. "Tell him, Crowley. He'll understand. He's a very bright boy, you know."

_Bright enough to have a bottle of holy water in his pocket, I'll wager_ , Crowley thought sourly. But he pried Aziraphale's fingers from around his arm and gently laid the hot, dry hand on the angel's chest, leaving his hand on top of it -- just to keep it from fluttering nervously, he told himself. "He's an angel," he said quietly.

"An…angel?"

Crowley looked up at Pryce over his glasses. "And you know what I am."

The human let out a long breath. "I see." Then he looked up sharply at Angelus. "Did you know this?"

Angelus shuffled his feet guiltily. "I told you I knew Crowley," he said a little defensively. 

"And yet you somehow failed to mention he was a demon," Pryce returned crisply. But when he leaned down closer to the obviously ill Aziraphale, his voice was soft and his touch on the angel's arm was gentle. "Is this true, Mr. Fell?"

Aziraphale managed to curve his lips slightly. "Angels can't lie, my boy. Yes, it's true. And you won't need that holy water. At least, not for Crowley."

Wesley raised his gaze and gave Crowley a long look. "Tell me what happened," he ordered, conveying urgency without raising his voice.

Succinctly, Crowley recounted what happened and how Aziraphale had come to be poisoned. As he was speaking, Angelus strode over to the case with the sword and quickly removed it, holding it out silently for Pryce to study, as if the human had requested it.

Pryce frowned at he looked at the sigils, then gently turned over Aziraphale's injured hand and undid his cuff, carefully pushing it up. They could all see intricate black sigils appearing on his skin as if they had been tattooed there. "Blood magic," he murmured. "The oldest form of magic. Antidote?" he asked without much hope.

"If there is, it's not anywhere I can get it," Crowley answered grimly. And there was no one Down There he could call on for help. Ask for help to save one of the Enemy? He may as well just turn himself in for a few thousand years of torture while he was at it. Hastur would probably be very glad to oblige him.

A pale green robe swished into Crowley's field of vision and he sprang to his feet to face the blind shopkeeper. "You let an angel get poisoned in your shop, old man," he hissed furiously. "I thought you had protection in here."

"Crowley, please." Aziraphale plucked ineffectively at his pants leg. "He removed the wards at my request," he croaked apologetically.

"Right," Crowley mumbled, and dropped back down, once again laying his hand on Aziraphale's to still its trembling. He was aware of Pryce getting to his feet and carrying on a rapid conversation with the old man, but he tuned them out, turning all his attention on the angel.

"Can you heal him?" Angelus asked quietly.

Crowley gave his head a sharp shake. "Demons can't heal," he said bitterly. Aziraphale's eyes were screwed tightly shut and he was breathing in short rasps. Crowley bent over until his mouth was next to the angel's ear. "Come on, angel," he urged. " _Heal_. Put your back into it."

"Trying, my dear," the angel replied weakly. "Not making much progress, I’m afraid."

"Then try harder, damn it!"

"We need to leave," Pryce announced abruptly, returning to Angelus's side. "This place is no longer safe for either of you. Mr. Wu insists on reinstating the wards. We need to leave now."

"This place seems to be perfectly safe for demons," Crowley said viciously. "Not so much for angels." He worked his arms carefully under the angel. All he could do now was get Aziraphale back to their hotel; and all he could offer was shelter and what comfort Aziraphale might draw from his presence. Aside from that he had to hope the angel had enough strength left to fight the poison that was making its way through his system. Knowing Hastur, it was sure to be a slow-acting poison and one designed to deliver as much pain as possible.

Pryce knelt down on the other side of Aziraphale. "Wait! Where are you taking him?"

Crowley didn't spare a glace at him. "With me," he said flatly. A thin, bandaged hand landed on his arm, and he froze.

"Can _you_ help him?"

This time Crowley did look up into Pryce's earnest face and warned in a furious voice, "Shut up now, boy."

"We may be able to help him," Pryce insisted. "Angel?" He turned an imploring gaze on Angelus. "We can take him to Cordelia's. We can at least make him comfortable there. And between the books I have at my flat and the books Mr. Wu has here, we may be able to find something to save him." The beseeching gaze he turned on Crowley was so like the earnest looks he often got from Aziraphale that he had to look away. "We have to _try_."

Crowley stared at the angel's hand which was crushing a fistful of the fine material of his designer suit jacket as Aziraphale's breathing became more labored. He gathered the limp angel determinedly into his arms, trying to ignore the sharp groan the movement caused. "Where do we go?"

"Angel, you and Mr. Crowley take Mr. Fell to Cordelia's. I'll stay here and see if I can find --"

Angel interrupted firmly, "You're not staying here alone."

"I'll be perfectly safe in here with the wards up," Wesley said impatiently. "But you won't if you don't all leave _now_." He plucked a cell phone from his jacket pocket and held it up. "I'll call when I've finished, and you can come back for me."

Crowley could see Angelus struggle with his decision. On the one hand, he wasn't about to let a minion from Below anywhere near this 'Cordelia', and on the other, it was obvious he really didn't want to leave Pryce here by himself. 

"Angel, _go_ ," Pryce urged.

Apparently coming to a decision, Angelus nodded abruptly and stabbed a finger at the human. "Call, then wait inside until we come for you."

"Yes, yes, just _go_."

Crowley felt a warning tingling in the air, and Aziraphale's fingers tightened on the lapel of his jacket, giving it a tug. "Crowley, you must leave," he rasped.

Demon speed assured that both he and Angelus were outside the shop before Pryce drew his next mortal breath.

 

Crowley grimly followed Angelus to a vintage black convertible parked by the bookshop and gave the vampire a scathing glance. "This was the best you could do?"

Angelus got behind the wheel and started the engine, leaving Crowley standing on the sidewalk with Aziraphale in his arms. "The way I look at it, you have two choices: ride with me, or fly." He turned his head to level a gaze at the demon. "What's it going to be?"

With a snarl, Crowley glared at the passenger-side car door which opened by itself, and he carefully settled into the back seat, Aziraphale held against his chest. The car peeled out of its parking space and into traffic and Crowley wished with all his might he was behind the wheel of his Bentley right now. In fact, he wished he'd never talked Aziraphale into coming to Los Angeles with him, although he knew Hastur had the kind of patience that meant he would have been willing to wait a hundred years to carry out his plan if that's what it took.

Suddenly he had a lapful of thrashing angel as Aziraphale fought to sit up. "No! No! Crowley you're driving on the wrong side of the road! You'll kill someone!"

Crowley wrapped his arms around the struggling angel to hold him still. "We're in America, remember? We're on the right side of the road over here." He found himself rocking a little as he soothed, "And I'm not driving, see?" 

What little energy he possessed seemed to suddenly drain out of him, and the delirious angel gazed up at him with confused, fever-bright eyes. "Who's driving then?"

Crowley smiled cheerfully. "A vampire."

"Oh." Aziraphale let out a sigh as his eyes slid shut. "That's all right then."

Crowley squeezed his own eyes shut for a moment and took a breath to compose himself. When he opened them again he knew Angelus was watching him in the rear view mirror even though he couldn't see the vampire's reflection in the glass. Enough pissing about. The car shot forward suddenly, swinging into another lane and causing other cars to swerve out of the way. Car horns blared as the convertible tore recklessly down the street.

"Crowley, what do you think you're doing?" Angelus growled, fighting the wheel for control. "Stop it!"

"Step on it, vampire," he said coolly, "or I will."

"Let go _now_ , Crowley, or we'll drive around this town all night," Angelus promised grimly.

Crowley hissed, but lifted his hand in a vague gesture, and the car immediately slowed. Once Angelus firmly had control once again, he took a turn with tires screaming, and Crowley sank back against the seat, Aziraphale held tightly in his arms. Now that was the kind of driving he approved of.

 

It was a strangely subdued demon who followed Angel from the car to Cordelia's door, an unconscious angel held carefully in his arms. Angel didn't have the time to consider the improbability of a friendship between a demon and an angel -- after all, he had enough improbable relationships in his own life -- but it was obvious Crowley was invested heavily in Aziraphale's continued existence. He just hoped that was enough to keep him in line because he wasn't happy having Crowley anywhere near Cordelia or Wesley, and if it came down to a fight between him and Crowley, he didn't think either one of them would walk away alive.

Angel had called ahead to let Cordelia know there'd been an emergency; that, no, it wasn't Wesley; and they needed to use her apartment as a sanctuary. So her door opened as soon as he lifted his hand to knock. He'd cut her off pretty quickly over the phone, although that hadn't entirely been his fault, except for the forgetting to charge the phone part, and when the door opened she was waiting with hands on her hips and narrowed eyes. One glance told him she was still suffering from the after-vision headache she'd had all day, and her mood was foul. As she opened her mouth to demand an explanation, Angel gently but firmly moved her aside as Crowley strode in, carrying Aziraphale. 

"The bedroom's through there," Angel told him, and Crowley walked past without so much as a glance in Cordelia's direction, his whole attention focused on Aziraphale.

"My bedroom? My _bedroom_?" Cordelia's voice was raised in indignation. "What's wrong with the couch?"

"Cordelia, I'll explain everything --"

"He's burning up." Crowley was at the bedroom doorway, his voice abrupt. "I need water."

Angel nodded automatically. "Right." As he moved off to the kitchen he looked back at Cordelia. "Stay here," he ordered. " _Don't_ go in there." It wasn't until he was filling a pitcher with cool water from the kitchen faucet that he realized that telling Cordelia not to go into the bedroom was probably the dumbest thing he could have done.

Just as he expected, when he hurried into Cordelia's bedroom with the water, there was Cordelia, standing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed over her chest. She was watching Crowley tend to the feverish man in the bed with a slight frown on her face. As he carried in the pitcher, Cordelia took it without a word and poured some into a glass on the nightstand. Handing it across to Crowley she said quietly, "Make sure he drinks, or he'll get dehydrated."

Crowley gave her a brief look behind his tinted glasses, then nodded and accepted the glass. Slipping a hand under the angel's head, he gently raised it and put the glass to his lips. "Come on, Aziraphale. You must be thirsty."

The angel obligingly drank a few swallows, then obviously tired of the effort, and Crowley took the glass away and laid his head back down. In the meantime, Cordelia had been busy in the adjoining bath and came out with a damp wash cloth which she laid carefully on Aziraphale's forehead before Crowley could intercept her to do it himself.

Blue eyes fluttered open and the angel blinked at Cordelia. "Oh," he sighed in relief, "thank you."

Cordelia flashed a smile, but it was lacking some of its usual wattage. "You're welcome."

"What's your name, my dear?"

"Cordelia."

"Cordelia. Such a beautiful name." Aziraphale smiled gently at her. "Such a beautiful young lady." He lifted his hand with an effort and she took it without hesitation. The angel closed his eyes and let out a sigh. "You carry a heavy burden, Cordelia," he murmured, "but you are strong and brave, and your compassion does you credit."

There was a sense of _something_ in the air, and then Cordelia blinked as if surprised. "Oh." She rubbed her forehead. "That's so strange. I just --"

Crowley hissed in exasperation. "You haven't enough strength for yourself and you're going around giving it away? You haven't the sense you were put on Earth with, angel."

Aziraphale's eyes were already sliding shut, but he managed to pat Crowley's hand clumsily. "Don't be angry, my dear. It's what I do, you know."

Cordelia laid Aziraphale's limp hand on his chest, then turned and walked away from the bed, shooting Angel a look that made him immediately turn and follow her out the door. Once he'd closed the bedroom door, he turned to face her.

"Okay," she said flatly. "I want to know what's going on, and I want to know now. Who is tall, dark and rude in the Versache and sunglasses, and who's the pretty English guy in bed who can apparently make vision headaches vanish at a touch?"

Angel rubbed his eyes and wondered if it was possible for _him_ to get a post-vision headache. "You'd better sit down."

 

A half hour later, after a brief argument with Angel, which she won, Cordelia entered the bedroom carrying a tray with two cups of steaming tea and the plastic container she used to spray the plants. Angel, of course, was doing the looming thing right behind her. It hadn't taken her long to come to grips with the fact she had -- another -- demon in her house and an angel in her bed. She'd grown up on the Hellmouth, after all, and a vampire signed her paychecks. 

The angel Aziraphale was awake, his breathing labored, but Crowley stopped murmuring to him as soon as they opened the door and shot up straight in his chair, glaring at them from behind his sunglasses. Aziraphale's bare arms were resting on top of the bedspread, and Cordelia could see as soon as she walked in that there were more little black squiggly symbols on his arms now than there had been before. But she pasted a bright smile on her face as she approached with the tray.

"What do you want?" Crowley asked churlishly.

"Crowley," the angel murmured. "Manners."

Crowley gave him a smile that Cordelia could only describe as fond. "I'm a demon, remember? I don't have manners."

"I brought tea," Cordelia announced briskly. "Wesley's English and he drinks it all the time, and since you're English too --"

Crowley snorted.

"--and since Mr. Azi -- Aze --"

"Just call me Mr. Fell, my dear," the angel said kindly, if a little breathlessly.

Cordelia smiled gratefully. That was much easier to remember. "Since Mr. Fell isn't feeling well, I made you some of Wesley's tea."

"Oh, that was lovely of you, Cordelia. Thank you." 

Cordelia bit her lip at how frail the angel sounded, but he did look genuinely grateful for the offer of a cup of tea. She handed off the tray to Crowley, who took it without comment, and she plucked off the spray bottle and held it in her hand.

"What's that?" Crowley asked warily.

"Just a little something I plan to keep with me as long as you're my house guest, Mr. Crowley," she said sweetly.

The demon hissed and abruptly jerked back. "Holy water."

"It's the sort of thing you learn to keep around when you work for a vampire, and in case you have other unexpected guests." She waved a hand at the tray and scolded, "Give him his tea before it gets cold."

Crowley managed to retrieve a cup from the tray without quite turning his back on her, and lifted the angel's head so he could take a few sips. Aziraphale sank back onto the pillow with a blissful sigh. "That was lovely," he murmured.

While Aziraphale was catching his breath, Crowley picked up his own cup and took a drink, immediately spluttering and wiping his mouth. "What in the he-- what do you call that?" he demanded, pushing the cup away from himself.

"Lady Grey," the angel mumbled, smiling faintly. "'s lovely."

"Lady Grey? Who in name of he -- Birmingham drinks _Lady Grey_ tea?" Crowley snarled.

"Wesley does," Cordelia said simply, and bestowed a smile on the angel. "And I thought Mr. Fell would like it too."

Aziraphale smiled back gently. "Very refreshing, my dear." He really did have the sweetest smile, and his eyes were the color of the sky on a perfect summer's day. Cordelia had almost convinced herself that his silly illness was nothing more serious than an angel flu when his entire body suddenly arched up under the covers and he gasped sharply in pain. Immediately Crowley had his hands, gripping them tightly enough to whiten his knuckles. 

"Okay, I think visiting hours are over," he said lightly. "Let's try saving some of that strength for a change, hm?" Glancing up at Cordelia and Angel, he said very clearly, "Get out."

It took Angel's hand on her shoulder to turn her around, but then she hurried out of the room and only stopped when she was back in the middle of her living room and heard Angel softly shut the door behind them. She felt a sudden chill and hugged herself, running her hands up and down her bare arms. "Are you sure Wesley's okay?" she asked testily.

"He's probably safer than we are right now."

She turned around to face him, moving her hands to her hips. "And what were you doing letting Wesley go out at all hours of the night? He's supposed to be home resting, not spending his nights haunting bookshops."

Angel shifted his feet guiltily. "You know how he is," he mumbled. "He was going to go himself anyway if I hadn't taken him."

"Well, that's just perfect. So now he's out there alone --" The phone rang, startling them both, and it was only Angel's vampire speed that allowed him to reach it first, but only just, and he snatched up the receiver.

Cordelia listened impatiently to Angel's side of the conversation as he firmly instructed Wesley to stay inside the book store until someone came to pick him up. But just before he could end the conversation, she held out her hand imperiously. Angel cleared his throat. "Um, Cordelia wants to talk to you," he said hurriedly and handed off the receiver, then backed away.

Cordelia listened as Wesley frantically told Angel not to give her the phone, and then said clearly, "Wesley."

There was a moment of panicked silence. "Cordelia?"

"You are in _so_ much trouble. I just wanted you to know that." And then she hung up.

Angel swiftly moved past her to the bedroom door and opened it. As she watched he gave his head an almost imperceptible nod, and in a few moments Crowley joined him, reluctantly following Angel into the living room. Without a word, Angel tossed him the car keys, which he caught automatically with excellent reflexes, then stared at them.

"What's this?"

"Keys to the car," Angel said shortly. "Go pick up Wesley and bring him back here. Safely."

Crowley tossed them back. "Pick him up yourself. I'm staying here." He turned to go back to the bedroom, but Angel took a step that put him in his path.

"You're not staying here alone with Cordelia."

The demon waved an impatient hand. "I'm not interested in the girl, Angelus."

But Angel didn't move from his path, his expression dark and unyielding. "You are what you are, Crowley. You can't change that any more than I can walk down Sunset Boulevard at high noon." Again, he tossed the keys, and again Crowley automatically caught them. "Pick up Wesley," he repeated, "and bring him back here. Safely."

Crowley jingled the keys with a sly smile. "So you trust me with Pryce, but not the girl?"

"I don't trust you at all. But Wesley may be the only chance you have of saving that angel's life, so I think that's enough incentive for you to keep him safe." Angel leaned in closer and lowered his voice to a shrewd whisper. "You're slipping, Crowley. There was a time you wouldn't have allowed anyone to read you so easily. Maybe you're getting soft."

Cordelia caught her breath. Crowley was obviously worried about the angel and had been acting as protective of him as Angel did with her and Wesley, but she didn't think it was the smartest thing in the world for Angel to bait him like that when he was counting on him to protect Wesley. Besides, Crowley looked like he wouldn't need much provocation to rip off Angel's head right now. She stepped forward quickly and said, "I'll stay with Mr. Fell so he won't be alone."

Crowley let out a breath in a hiss and nodded, not taking his gaze off Angel. "He…he liked that tea," he offered a little lamely.

"I know. I'll fix him some more. Just hurry and bring Wesley back. He's not safe to be let on his own, but if anyone can find a way to help Mr. Fell, it's him." She didn't think Crowley could be reminded too much of that fact.

The demon gave another curt nod, then turned and was out the door and gone before Cordelia could blink again. She gave Angel a long, disapproving look before turning to go into the kitchen and make more tea, wondering if it was possible for demons to possess testosterone, and making a mental note to ask Wesley.

 

The vampire's car wasn't quite as bad as Crowley had feared it would be. Angelus apparently took good care of it, and it had a decent engine under the hood which responded quickly and obediently to his…enhancements. Yellow lines miraculously disappeared and a no parking zone became a parking spot in front of the book store as Crowley screamed to a stop and jumped out of the car, intent on collecting Pryce and getting him back to Aziraphale. So focused was he on his mission that it wasn't until he was standing in front of the dark and obviously closed book store that he realized there was no way Pryce was still inside. "Fuck," he whispered viciously, and quickly looked around for the missing human. Why hadn't the fool just stood here where he could be easily found?

The street was surprisingly empty for Los Angeles at night. Or perhaps not. Perhaps the humans familiar with this area kept clear after dark for a reason. With a mounting sense of dread, Crowley began walking quickly down the street, his senses alert for any sound or scent that might lead him to the human who could be his best chance at saving Aziraphale. 

He'd gone two blocks when his senses told him he'd found Pryce; only he wasn't the only one who had found him, and unfortunately he wasn't the first. The sounds were coming from a dark alley up ahead, and the only good news was that from the grunts he was hearing Pryce was still alive. He quickened his pace until he reached the alley the sounds were coming from; stopping at the mouth of the alley, he took in the scene at a glance. There were a _lot_ of vampires, and they were apparently using Pryce in a game of ping pong to amuse themselves before eating him. He began walking deliberately toward them; this could get messy if he had to take them all on because any one of them could easily snap Pryce's neck before he could get to him. It would be so much better for all involved if he could just intimidate them and get the human out of there.

The vampires stopped their game and looked at him as he came to a casual stop. The one currently holding a freshly bruised Pryce gave him a contemptuous look. "What do you want?"

With a mocking smile, Crowley removed his glasses, letting his golden unnatural eyes shine in the dark. Somewhere in the darkness a cat hissed and overturned a trash can in its scramble for safety. "Game's over, boys," he said pleasantly. "This human's mine."

The vampire with Pryce in his grip, a grinning redhead dressed in motorcycle leathers, abruptly grabbed a fistful of the human's hair and twisted his neck in a way that made Crowley inwardly wince. He grinned wolfishly at Crowley. "I don't see your mark on him. I think we'll keep him."

Crowley sighed. Vampires were so stupid. His best chance of getting Pryce out of here alive was still coercion, and abruptly his black wings unfurled in all their menacing glory. He ruffled them in unmistakable warning. "Walking out of here now would be a good idea, vampire," he said in a hard voice. "I have no quarrel with you, but that human isss mine."

"In case you can't count," another vampire spoke up, "there are more of us than you."

"Yeah," another said, "maybe we'll just pluck those feathers." The others laughed in agreement and started moving as a group in his direction.

It was getting uglier by the moment, and Crowley realized his chances of getting Pryce out alive were dropping like a rock. Just when he thought he was going to have to go for the one holding Pryce and hope for the best, he spotted the human slowly easing his unbandaged hand toward his coat pocket. Pryce was watching him, eyes wide with fear, but he was holding himself together and willing Crowley to understand what he was trying to do. Crowley remembered that bottle of holy water all too well and felt something like grudging admiration for the human for coming up with an idea that might actually work. He gave an almost imperceptible nod, then began slowly walking back and forth, ensuring the vampires had to keep their attention on him.

"Sssso. You think thisss human is worth fighting for?"

"You must think so," the redhead shot back.

"Perhapsss I just want to fight, vampire," Crowley returned smoothly, rippling his wings for effect and clicking his claws. "My kind enjoy it."

The redhead gave him a wide, malevolent smile, showing his fangs. "And my kind like to eat humans." With a snarl he leaned over to sink his fangs into Wesley's neck, only to jerk back with a scream, clawing at his eyes. Wesley had the bottle of holy water in his hand and he'd used it to its best effect. 

As soon as the vampire let go of him he scrambled away, pulling a stake from inside his jacket and flattening himself against a brick wall, ready to defend himself. He never needed to use it. With a snarl, Crowley launched himself at the pack, his wings buffeting some vampires aside and his claws taking care of any foolish enough to get in his way. The survivors ran for their lives, and within a few minutes, there were simply piles of ashes among the trash in the dirty alley. 

Crowley strode up to Wesley, who was still poised with his stake, grabbed him by the coat jacket and hauled him away from the wall. "Good move," he grunted. "Although you wouldn't have needed if it you'd stayed inside the bookstore."

Pryce began picking up books that Crowley just noticed had been tossed around the alley. "Mr. Wu closed the shop," he explained quickly. "I didn't have any choice but to go outside. The sword." He pointed at the sword that had caused all the trouble which was now lying among some stinking garbage. "We need the sword." Crowley picked it up without a word and began striding back to the car as Pryce scrambled to keep up. "Where's Angel?"

Crowley didn't answer until they reached the car. He slid behind the wheel of the car, and the engine immediately came to life. "With the girl and Aziraphale." He gave Pryce a quick glance before sending the car on its way with a squeal of tires. "Did you find an antidote?" he asked abruptly.

"No, not yet. But these books are our best chance of it, I’m sure." He hesitated. "How is Mr. Fell?"

"Still alive when I left," Crowley answered shortly.

"We need to make a stop before we go back."

"No stops." 

Wesley said firmly, "I need to stop for some supplies. I have an idea how we may be able to slow the poison down a bit while we research a cure. If we don't do something it won't matter if we do find an antidote, because it will be too late."

Crowley let out a hiss, then nodded abruptly. "Where?"

"Take a left two blocks up. St. Michael's."

"A church?"

"I know the priest there; we've helped him out a few times. I've already called him and he'll have what I need ready for us."

Crowley set horns blaring as he made a left turn without regard to traffic laws. "Just make sure you store the stuff in the boot for the drive back," he growled. "I've seen what you can do with holy water."

 

Crowley left Pryce to gather the bag of holy supplies from the boot while he scooped up the sword and armful of books. The door was opened for him as he approached, and he walked past Angelus and straight into the bedroom without stopping. Outside he could hear Angelus speaking to Pryce and some raised voices, mostly on the vampire's side, but he laid the sword and books down on a chest and went immediately to Aziraphale's side. The girl was sitting on the other side of the bed, holding the angel's hand, and she looked up at him with a troubled expression.

Ignoring her, Crowley sat down and gently tapped the angel on the arm. "Still with us, angel?"

Aziraphale's eyes fluttered open and he smiled faintly in Crowley's direction. "Did you have a nice time, my dear?"

Crowley kept a fixed smile on his face. "Oh yes, very nice."

"You did remember to feed the ducks, didn't you? It's so cold for them this time of the year."

"Fed the ducks," he answered cheerfully, "and sank a few in your honor."

A slight frown marred the angel's features, but he was frowning at a point just to the right of Crowley. "Was that really necessary?"

"No, but it was fun."

Aziraphale's eyes slid shut as he slurred, "Incorrigible…" 

"He's been like this since you left," the girl whispered. "Just talking. Most of the time he thought he was talking to you."

Crowley nodded absently, his gaze on the little black symbols that were spreading on the angel's arms, moving relentlessly toward his chest, and his heart. That was the target, he knew. Once they reached there…

"Wesley!" A gasp from the girl brought his head up. "You're bleeding. Again." Cordelia was on her feet, glaring at Pryce. The next instant she had wheeled around and transferred that accusing glare to him. "You were supposed to protect him."

"Cordelia, please." Pryce laid a calming hand on her arm. "Mr. Crowley saved my life. As I told Angel, I'll explain it all later, but right now we _don't have the time_. We need to try to slow the spread of poison in Mr. Fell's body."

The girl looked like she wanted to say something more on the subject, or perhaps scratch Crowley's eyes out, but she only asked, "What do we do?"

Pryce knelt down and began pulling four thick, white candles out of the bag by his feet, handing two to the girl and keeping two for himself. "We need to put these at the four corners of the bed and light them." As he carefully set one candle on the nightstand by Aziraphale's head he added matter-of-factly, "Angel, you and Mr. Crowley will want to avoid contact with these items; they're all blessed. That's it, Cordelia. Please light them while I get the rest of the supplies."

Angelus had stepped back out of the way, but Crowley stayed where he was beside Aziraphale while the girl lit the candles and Pryce pulled more items out of the bag. He laid a Bible on the bedside table, then placed a vial of oil and a small rectangular box beside it. "Would you please lower the covers?" Crowley carefully pulled the covers down, baring the angel's chest and stood back. Pryce studied the pattern of sigils for a long moment, his lips compressed. Finally he looked up at Crowley. "I'm going to use holy oil to try to slow the spread of the poison and set up a circle of protection around his heart. But, as you know, this is blood magic we're dealing with, and the only way to counter it is with blood. Do you understand?"

"Just do it."

"All right. I'll be very careful, but if you could keep him still and calm --"

"He's experienced more pain than you could ever imagine, human," Crowley growled, impatient to get it over with. "Just do it." But he tightened his grip on Aziraphale's limp hand, and as foreign as it was to his nature, he tried to send out waves of calmness to the angel.

"Very well." Pryce opened up the small box and pulled out a small, silver scalpel. "It's been sterilized," he explained, "and I asked Father John to bless it…" His voice trailed off, and Crowley could hear him swallow as he bent over Aziraphale's still form. "All right, here we go." Pryce placed the blade against Aziraphale's pale skin, but it took him some time before he could bring himself to actually press down hard enough to draw blood. Aziraphale's body gave a little jolt as the blade pierced his skin, but there was no other reaction. Crowley could smell the human's distress as he drew the careful, laborious circle around the angel's heart, leaving a ruby red trail in his wake. Crowley could sense that Angelus wanted to take the knife from him and do it himself to save Pryce from his obvious anguish, and his fingers were itching to grab it himself, but neither he nor Angelus would have been able to hold a blessed silver instrument long enough to accomplish it. So he gritted his teeth and willed Pryce through it. Finally, the circle was complete, and Pryce straightened, perspiration beaded on his forehead and his hand visibly shaking. "All right," he said, his voice breathy, "now we need to pour the holy oil so that it mixes with the blood." 

He turned around to lay down the knife and pick up the vial of oil, but it was firmly plucked from his unsteady hand by the girl. "Take a breather, Wesley. I can do this."

Pryce didn't look inclined to argue with her. "All right," he agreed, not quite able to mask his relief. "Just make sure you follow the circle, Cordelia. The oil has to mix with his blood all the way around."

"Got it." She bent over, and frowning in concentration, she carefully poured the oil over the weeping wound. She faltered only a moment when Aziraphale moaned softly, then pressed her lips tightly together and completed the circle. 

When it was done, she carefully set the empty vial back on the bedside table as Wesley murmured, "Well done, Cordelia." He stepped forward with a heavy silver cross on a long chain. "Would you raise his head please?" She did so, and Pryce carefully slipped the chain over his head and placed the cross so that it rested over Aziraphale's heart in the circle of blood and holy oil. "Father John suggested he might rest better on holy ground, but I honestly don't think we dare try to move him," Pryce said apologetically. 

Belatedly, Crowley realized that had really been a question to him, and he was the one to make the decision. He shook is head slowly. "No, I think it would be too much for him."

"I agree." 

Cordelia rubbed her arms as if she were cold. "Is that it, Wesley? Please tell me that's it."

Pryce didn't answer immediately and Crowley gave him a sharp look. 

"No, there is one more thing we should do." Very gently, Wesley turned over Aziraphale's hand to expose the ugly, throbbing cut that was pumping poison through the angel's body. He gave Crowley an apologetic look. "I'm afraid we must wash the wound with blessed water."

Crowley looked down at Aziraphale, who was moving his head restlessly on the pillow, beginning to regain consciousness. Yes, pouring holy water into the wound was necessary; but it would be like thrusting Aziraphale's hand into a blast furnace. "Do you have any liquor?" he asked suddenly.

The girl frowned at him in disbelief. "You want a _drink_?"

"No, I want to get him drunk," he snapped. "Unless you have a better idea how we can knock him out?"

As they continued to glare at one another, Angelus said quietly, "Cordy, do you still have that brandy David Babbit gave us?"

"That bottle of really expensive brandy, you mean? The one we were saving for when we had something to celebrate? Yes, I do." She looked down at Aziraphale, her features softening. "It looks like it might be a while before Angel Investigations has anything to celebrate. I'll get it for Mr. Fell." She paused in the doorway and said over her shoulder, "I have some wine too. It's California, but…"

"Bring it," Crowley directed. Aziraphale was probably too sick and disoriented to think about keeping himself sober, but better not to take the chance. He gazed down at the still weeping circle around the angel's heart, the holy oil, and the cross. All this, and now blessed water, just to try to slow down the poison; and they were no closer to finding an antidote now than they were at the book shop.

 

Crowley burst out of the bedroom and didn't stop until he reached the street, Cordelia's apartment door practically flying off its hinges to open for him. The instant he stepped outside, the lights winked out in a five mile radius, except for the lights inside the apartment he'd just left. He stood on the dark street, taking in deep breaths of air, Aziraphale's screams still echoing in his ears. Even a bottle of fine brandy topped off by a couple of glasses of tolerable California wine wasn't enough to keep the angel drunkenly unconscious while Pryce poured blessed water into his wound. It took Angelus and him both to hold Aziraphale down, and by the time it was over, the girl had fled in tears, Pryce was pale and shaking, and Angelus couldn't meet his eyes. For himself, he had such a tangle of emotions boiling inside him and threatening to erupt that he had to seek solitude, if only for a few minutes. Either that, or he was going to start ripping off heads. He allowed himself one more deep breath, let it out slowly, then squared his shoulders and walked back into the building.

And into the middle of an argument between Angelus and his two humans. From where he was standing unnoticed in the living room, he could see Pryce sitting in the middle of the kitchen in a chair, with the girl applying bandages and antiseptic to his various cuts and bruises while Angelus loomed over them, scowling. Apparently the argument had been going on for some time when Pryce finally raised his voice loud enough to end it, "And I've told you both that if it hadn't been for Mr. Crowley I would be dead now or worse. He's a friend of Mr. Fell's, he saved my life, he hasn't done a thing to harm any of us, and I won't hear a word against him."

"You don't know him like I do," Angelus countered.

"And when was the last time you saw him, Angel? You more than anyone should realize that people can change."

Crowley could practically hear Angelus grinding his teeth as he spoke. "He's not a person. He's a demon."

"Be that as it may, he's had ample opportunity to do evil, and he certainly had the opportunity to allow me to be killed by vampires. Oww! Cordelia, that hurt."

"Oh, don't be such a girl. And sit _still_. You know I have to disinfect all these cuts. Which you wouldn't have gotten if you'd been home resting the way you were supposed to be tonight."

Angelus moved to stand in front of Pryce. "Wesley, the only reason he saved your life was because you're his best chance of saving that angel."

"Which goes to show he can feel friendship," Pryce argued, "and Mr. Fell did say Crowley was his friend. I really do think we can trust the judgment of an angel."

Crowley stepped into the kitchen then, hands in his pockets. "Trusting the judgment of that particular angel could result in you wearing argyle socks and tartan jackets." Ignoring the glares of both Angelus and the girl, he addressed his words to Pryce, "We've got work to do."

Pryce nodded and started to stand. "Yes, we do."

But Angelus's hand clamped on his shoulder, holding him down. "No, Crowley and I have work to do," he corrected firmly. "You're going to get some rest."

"We're both going to get some rest," Cordelia added, snapping shut the first aid kit with finality. "If Angel and Mr. Crowley can refrain from pulling out the tape measures --"

"Cordelia!" Wesley gasped, scandalized.

"-- they can start on the research to save Mr. Fell." She gave a pointed look to both Angelus and Crowley. "That is the point of all this, isn't it?"

Crowley did like the fact that the girl didn't beat around the bush; when she had something to say, she came out and said it. "Just tell me what to look for," he said to Pryce.

 

A half hour later, Cordelia was curled up in a chair in the bedroom, dozing; she'd insisted on giving Wesley the sofa while she slept in her room in case Aziraphale woke up. Crowley didn't comment on her choice, although secretly he was relieved and grateful she would be there. He and Angelus were seated at the dining room table, books spread out on either side of them, and the sword lying in the middle, symbolically placing a partition between them while providing them both with reference material. Pryce had done a good job of choosing the books, and he and Angelus had divided them up without much difficulty: Angelus took the ones in obscure demon dialects, and he had the books in Greek, Hebrew and Latin. There were a few other books laid off to the side waiting for Pryce to join them later; they were in languages neither of them could translate.

Mostly they worked in silence. Once or twice Angelus showed him a passage in one of his books and Crowley nodded they should mark it for Pryce to review. They seemed to be finding bits and pieces of a puzzle but no solution. In the back of his mind Crowley could hear a clock ticking, marking minutes passing, just as the poison was moving relentlessly through Aziraphale's body. 

Crowley was marking yet another page in one of the Hebrew books that referred to a poison incorporating some of the sigils on the blade of the sword when Cordelia appeared in the bedroom doorway and softly called his name. When he looked up, she said, "He's asking for you."

He was past caring what Angelus thought about his relationship with Aziraphale and was on his feet in an instant, striding immediately into the bedroom and fearing the worst. But when he sat down in the chair next to the bed, Aziraphale gazed up at him, this time clearly focusing on him. He was very pale, except for the flush of fever on his cheeks, and he looked positively frail, but it was a relief to see him lucid.

"You're causing miracles even in your sleep, angel," Crowley told him with a crooked smile. "You've actually got me working hand-in-hand, so to speak, with a vampire."

"So I hear." His voice was very breathy and his right hand was plucking restlessly at the bed cover. "Cordelia tells me there was some sort of…ritual?"

"Your friend Pryce came up with something to try to slow down the poison," Crowley told him.

"Ah." Aziraphale closed his eyes as if trying to determine the physical state of his body, then slowly opened them again. "I think it's worked. It doesn’t seem to be…rushing like it was before. There's an odd feeling in my chest." He moved his hand to try to touch the area of discomfort, but Crowley quickly caught it and firmly pressed it to the mattress.

"Don't touch. You've got a cocktail of blood and holy oil around your heart. You don't want to break the circle."

"Oh. I see." He smiled faintly. "Very old magic."

_Very old, very powerful, and very evil_ , Crowley thought. He gave the hand under his a quick pat. "I've got to get back to work, and you've got to get some rest and conserve your strength. The way our luck's been going, the cure will probably involve you dancing naked under a full moon waving a chicken over your head."

He started to get up only to feel fingers wrap around his wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. "Crowley, wait. I need to tell you something."

Aziraphale's tone was much too serious and there was way too much compassion in his expressive eyes for Crowley to want to hear what he was about to say. "It's okay, angel," he said quickly, with a cheeky grin, "I've seen you naked before. Remember that time in Greece when we --"

"Crowley, please." The angel's voice was a painful rasp and Crowley pressed his lips together tightly as Aziraphale gave his wrist a warning squeeze. "I need to say this. I want you to know --"

"No," Crowley interrupted, his voice nearly a snarl. "I don't want to hear it, and you're not going to say it." He did not want to hear how he shouldn't blame himself, how he was doing everything in his power and it wouldn't be his fault if he failed. And above all, he did not want to hear that blessed word _ineffable_. "The only thing you have to think about right now is the meal you're going to buy me in the most expensive restaurant I can find in Los Angeles. And anything you need to tell me can wait until then, got it?" He glared fiercely at the angel, daring him to contradict anything he'd said.

Aziraphale smiled gently, and that smile said everything Crowley was trying so desperately not to hear. "Of course, my dear. I'm looking forward to it." With a sigh, he closed his eyes and murmured, "Do you really think they have any good restaurants in Los Angeles…?"

Crowley gently unpeeled the angel's limp fingers from his wrist and slid the hand under the covers, then he got up and left the room, trying very hard not to think about how he could feel the angel's essence fading. 

Pryce was at the table with Angelus when he returned to the dining room, already poring through a large book with aged pages, a cup of tea by his elbow. His fresh bruises stood out glaringly against his pale skin, and the dark circles under his eyes were proof he hadn't yet caught up on enough sleep; but he looked doggedly determined as he sat there, eyes squinting painfully as he peered closely at the pages in front of him. For an instant, Crowley wished he had Aziraphale's ability to heal in order to give this human some relief. But only because they needed Pryce to help find a cure, he swiftly assured himself; for no other reason. Pryce looked up when Crowley entered and opened his mouth as if to ask about Aziraphale, but apparently the expression on Crowley's face made him change his mind and he went back to his reading. 

Dropping into his chair, Crowley picked up the book he'd been going through when Cordelia had called him and announced flatly, "We need to read faster."

 

Crowley had never been more aware of time passing than he was that day. With each passing hour Aziraphale sank a little deeper into sleep, lost a little more of his strength. Pryce's magic had slowed the inevitable, but it hadn't stopped it. The girl Cordelia divided her time between keeping them supplied with tea and sandwiches and sitting with the unconscious Aziraphale. The rest of them concentrated on their quest, book after discarded book piling up on the floor beside them. Crowley concentrated fiercely on the Hebrew in front of him. They'd found many references to poisons that came close, but none that matched all the symbols on the sword, and Pryce had told them they all had to match exactly or the antidote would be worthless.

The sudden sound of the pen falling from Pryce's fingers made them all jump. "This is it," he breathed. He looked up at them with bloodshot eyes. "I'm sorry it took me so long to translate it, but it was written in Mak'eth, and I couldn’t be sure until I was completely finished --"

"You're sure?" Crowley interrupted. "You've found the antidote?"

Pryce nodded, but there was a strange air about him; he wasn't nearly as excited as he should have been. "Some of the ingredients needed we already have, others we can obtain with little difficulty."

It was Angelus who asked, "But?"

"There's one very important ingredient…I don't see how --"

"What is it?" Crowley demanded. Whatever it was, wherever it was, he'd get it. 

When Pryce didn't immediately answer, Angelus prompted, "Wes?"

The human looked up and met the vampire's gaze. "The blood of a hellbeast. The blood of a summoned, named hellbeast."

Crowley's jaw clenched. "What name?" There were several levels of hellbeasts. The ones generally sent to Earth on one mission or another, or were summoned by really stupid humans, were lower or mid-level. But even the mid-level hellbeasts were exceedingly dangerous. He'd never actually fought one because, technically, they were supposed to be on the same side. But Aziraphale had. The last time the angel had tangled with a hellbeast, Crowley had dropped into his bookstore to find him torn and bleeding, one wing very nearly severed, and too weak to have done more than make it back to his shop and collapse on the floor. It had taken him a week of healing before he was strong enough to be back on his feet again and back to his chipper self. Aziraphale had never talked about his fight with the beast, but Crowley had seen the aftermath and had drawn his own conclusions. Summoning a beast from hell and obtaining its blood wouldn't be a picnic, but he could do it.

Pryce looked over at him, then slowly slid the open book over so he could see the page. He stared at the reproduction of the lurid woodcut of the artist's idea of a hellbeast -- it wasn't nearly scary enough -- and silently read the name. His chair banged noisily to the floor as he jumped to his feet and walked away from the table, rubbing his eyes under his sunglasses. Xanyrihnx wasn't simply _a_ hellbeast. He was the hellbeast all the others wanted to grow up to be. 

Pryce asked tentative, "Mr. Crowley, is this --"

"Don't say his name," Crowley said sharply.

Pryce lifted his eyebrows in mild reproach. "I wasn't about to. Is this one particularly dangerous?"

Crowley gave him a long look over the top of his glasses. "Think of the worst thing you can imagine, Pryce. The nightmare that makes you wake up screaming in the middle of the night. Now multiply that by a hundred, and you _might_ come close."

"We can't bring something that dangerous into this world."

Crowley transferred his cool gaze to Angelus. "I don't need your permission to bring anything I choose into this world, vampire."

Angelus slowly got to his feet, squaring off with him. "It's too dangerous to this world to bring it here. Why can't you just go down there and get the blood?"

"Sure," Crowley said sarcastically, "why don't I just saunter Down There and announce I need the blood of a hellbeast in order to save an angel? I'm sure no one would mind."

Angelus's jaw was tight. "You can't summon a hellbeast to this world."

Crowley's smile had no humor at all. "You're right; I can't." He'd spent more than half his time on Earth skirting along the edge of the Rules from Down Below. Crowley's own Number One Rule was not to call attention to himself to anyone Down There. Summoning a hellbeast by name was one of the surest ways he knew to draw a big, flaming bulls eye on his back. Talk about setting loose the hounds of hell. He turned to Pryce. "You'll have to do it."

"Wesley isn't going to --"

"We can bind him," Wesley said quickly, trying to pacify Angelus. "We'll need a very powerful circle, but we can do it."

"It's going to have to be one blessedly big circle," Crowley muttered to himself, pacing as his thoughts raced. "I'll need room to maneuver. Too small, and it'll be too easy for it to get to me." He stopped pacing and turned back to Pryce. "We'll need a big, open space. A park or something."

Pryce frowned. "But surely, the smaller the circle, the easier it would be to obtain the beast's blood?"

Crowley smiled grimly. "There's only one way to obtain the blood of a hellbeast, Pryce, and that's after he's dead. And you can't kill him from outside the circle. Whoever kills him, has to be inside, with him."

"I see," Pryce said slowly. "So it's your intention of placing yourself inside the circle with him. You do realize if you step out of the circle at any time --"

"--I'll have broken the circle, thus unleashing the hellbeast on an unsuspecting world," he interrupted sarcastically. "Talk about teaching your grandmother to suck eggs. Yes, Pryce, I do realize that."

Angelus folded his arms across his chest. "And we're just supposed to believe that you won't 'accidentally' break the circle and do exactly that?"

"Angel," Pryce protested.

But Cordelia walked over from her place in the doorway and stood beside Angel, her stance matching the vampire's. "It's a fair question, Wesley. How do we know we can trust you, Mr. Crowley?"

"You can't trust him," Angelus said flatly. "He's a demon. He lies. That's one thing you can trust him to do."

And that was the problem in a nutshell of dealing with humans when _they_ knew who they were dealing with. But there was someone they could trust not to lie. "Ask the angel," he challenged.

Pryce looked at him for a long moment, then wordlessly got to his feet and walked past Crowley into the bedroom. Crowley, Angelus and the girl stayed locked in their tableau, unmoving, Crowley returning their stares. After a few minutes, Pryce came out of the bedroom and came to a stop in front of Crowley, "I'll do it," he announced. "But we need to plan this out very carefully, and we need to gather what we need for the antidote as well as the circle." He rubbed his forehead with his bandaged hand. "Although honestly I'm not sure how we're going to lay down a circle in a public park without it being disturbed."

"It won't be disturbed," Crowley told him, not certain whether to be surprised or not at Pryce's decision. Just what had he asked Aziraphale? "No human passing by will even know or remember there's a park there. No one will see anything or hear anything, and _no one_ will disturb that circle."

Pryce's eyebrows lifted. "You can do that?" Crowley didn't answer, and the human murmured, "Extraordinary." Then he seemed to shake himself and his tone turned brisk. "We need supplies, we need a location and we need a plan." Crowley had seen enough of this group to know that Pryce wasn't the leader or the one who usually made the decisions, but it was obvious he was taking the lead now, despite the fact Angelus was scowling at him and the female looked in equal parts worried and annoyed. "Angel, you obviously can't go outside for a few more hours, so Mr. Crowley and Cordelia will have to gather the supplies. I'll make you a list of what we'll need. Angel, you and I will choose the ground for the summoning and we'll need to research both the summoning ritual and the most powerful binding spell we can find."

"Crowley isn't going with Cordelia," Angelus said flatly.

"He won't have to," Pryce said distractedly, already in his seat and scribbling a list of supplies. "It will go faster if they split up. Some of the ingredients we need are most mundane, and Cordelia won't have any difficulty obtaining them at any supermarket or drug store. Some of the other ingredients require visits to more…select establishments, and Mr. Crowley can take care of those." He tore off a page from the legal pad he'd been writing on and handed it across the table to the girl. "You may have to visit a Wal-mart or a toy store for the last item," he said apologetically. "And better get several. And I'll call Father John and tell him to expect you."

_Toy store?_

Pryce continued to write quickly, but neatly. "Mr. Crowley, I'm listing the items I need you to purchase, and the addresses of shops which should carry them. Some of them may be a little difficult to obtain, but I'm confident you'll track them down."

Crowley accepted the paper without a word and looked over the list. Not exactly items you'd find at your local grocer's, but he'd get them.

"Do you have a cell phone?"

Crowley glanced at Pryce over his glasses. "Of course."

"I've written Cordelia's phone number at the bottom of that page. You'll need to call before you come back in." Pryce once again rubbed at his forehead as if he had a headache. "I should have thought of this before," he said fretfully. "If they tried to kill Mr. Fell once, there's nothing stopping them again, or from sending someone to make sure they succeeded. I'm going to set up some wards as warnings in case we get some unwanted visitors, and I wouldn't want you to walk into them."

Crowley shuddered a little. From the kind of knowledge Pryce seemed to possess he didn't really want to think the kind of traps he was capable of setting. And whatever he didn't think of, Angelus probably would. "I'll call first," he agreed grimly. 

Cordelia held the list up for Angelus to see. "I'll need money," she said pointedly. "Lots of money." She jumped when Crowley appeared by her side and held out a black credit card. After a brief look at Angelus, she warily accepted the card and gave it a good look. "Will this work?"

"Oh, it will definitely work," Crowley told her, smiling easily. "It will work for whatever you want to buy." From the way her eyes lit up, he thought a few extraneous items -- such as a pair of Hugo Boss sandals like the ones she was currently wearing (and how did she afford them on a secretary's salary?) -- might find their way into her shopping bags. He automatically chalked one up for Avarice. And he really hadn't even been trying.

"Cordelia, you can't use that card." If Angelus kept scowling like that, with any luck, his face would stick. "You don't know what might happen if you sign your name to anything Crowley gives you."

"Oh for heaven's sake, Angel." The girl rolled her eyes in exasperation. "It's a _credit card_. Not a deal with the Devil." Then she turned her head and gave Crowley a narrow-eyed look. "Is it?"

"The only deal that will happen," Crowley said coolly, "is between me and the credit card company." He slid a sideways look at Pryce, only too happy to drive a wedge between Angelus and these humans. "Do we really have time for this?"

"No, we really don't." Pryce sighed and turned a pleading gaze on the vampire. "Angel, please. We are all working toward one goal here. He can't save Mr. Fell without us, and frankly, we can't save him without Mr. Crowley, and I for one have every intention of doing whatever I have to in order save his life. Not because he's an angel -- although that in itself is a very good reason, I'd think -- but because I've known Mr. Fell, the bookseller, for most of my life. He was always kind to me, always took the time to answer my questions, managed to distract my father for hours while I was free to wander his bookshop, and frankly I think the reason I own a first edition of David Copperfield is entirely down to him. I don't know what happened between you two in the past, but can you agree to call a truce? At least until Mr. Fell is out of danger."

To give him credit, Angelus actually looked a little guilty, and Crowley couldn't blame him: Pryce had given the vampire the kind of look Aziraphale occasionally gave him that over the centuries had gotten more and more effective. Not that he'd ever let the angel know that, of course. "I'm not the one with a problem here," he said crisply, enjoying himself immensely when Angelus' scowl deepened, if that was possible.

"Fine," Angelus ground out, looking at Cordelia and Pryce, "but you two need to remember what he is."

Cordelia had retrieved her purse from the kitchen counter and was busy tucking the credit card away. "It would help if he carried a pitchfork instead of wearing Trussardi sunglasses and a Versache suit." She looked up into Angel's glare and sighed. "Fine. I will try to remember he is a Spawn of Satan despite the good taste in clothes. Can I go now? I have shopping to do."

"I'll walk you to your car," the vampire growled, and took her by the arm, escorting her quickly from the room. Crowley suspected he was going to try to press his own credit card on her, but he knew even if she accepted it, she'd still be holding onto the black one he gave her.

Once they were outside, Crowley turned to Pryce, who had sat back down and was carefully picking through the pile of books on the table. "Can I ask you something?" he asked casually.

Pryce looked up, surprised, but nodded. "Yes."

Crowley slid his hands into his pockets. "What did you ask Aziraphale? I know you didn't tell him the truth, because there's no way in h-- Disneyland he would have agreed to summoning a hell beast to this world in order to save himself. So when I told you to ask the angel…what did you ask him precisely?"

Pryce dipped his head, but not before Crowley saw the little smile on his face. "He was asleep, and I didn't want to wake him."

Crowley couldn't help the wry smile tugging at his own lips. "So you managed to get your way without telling a lie. Aziraphale would like that."

Pryce carefully laid aside the book he was leafing through, rested his arms on the table and looked up at Crowley, all traces of a smile gone. "I meant what I said earlier. I intend to do everything in my power to save Mr. Fell."

Crowley nodded, but kept his face expressionless. "So do I."

"But you should also know that I don't need to see a pitchfork to remember what you are. And if I see you make any move to hurt either Cordelia or Angel, I shall be prepared to deal with you. Are we clear?"

Crowley had to admire his grit even while he fought an urge to drop the overhead light on his head. "Yesss, Pryce," he answered. "We're clear." He turned to find Angelus watching them, his face grim, and he held up his hand. "Keysss." Angelus tossed him the keys to his car without a word. Crowley snatched them from the air and strode out, the sound of that relentlessly ticking clock in the back of his mind.

 

Crowley walked carefully, his eyes picking out the line of the circle easily in the darkness; on the other side of the circle, Angelus was doing the same, working his way toward Crowley. Both of them were tracing the circumference of the circle Pryce had laid down, making certain one last time that there were no breaks or flaws in the line. Pryce and Angelus had picked out a nice sized park for the summoning, and Crowley had seen to it that no human would come within a mile of it as long as they were there. Traffic would mysteriously divert, buses would suddenly travel new routes, taxi cabs would by-pass the area completely. With any luck, in a few hours everything would be back to normal, and he and Aziraphale would both still be alive.

The plan was fairly simple. He would be within the circle when Pryce summoned Xanyrihnx; Angel would be outside along with Pryce. While Crowley had seen to it no humans would come near the park, he couldn't do anything about vampires, and this was prime feeding ground, thus leaving Pryce vulnerable, so Angelus would remain with him. The vampire had provided a number of weapons for him to choose from for his battle, and he'd picked a heavy broadsword of good, solid workmanship. 

There were a pile of brightly colored objects by Pryce's side which Cordelia brought back from a toy store: something called 'super soakers', water guns which the humans had carefully filled with holy water. When Crowley had objected strenuously to the idea of Pryce shooting holy water at the beast when he could easily miss and hit _him_ , the girl had merely raised a disdainful eyebrow at him and said, "Wesley doesn't miss." He really had little choice but to trust in that because he had no control over what Pryce -- or Angelus -- might do outside the circle. For all he knew, if he was left standing at the end of the battle (which was his plan) they could just as easily turn the holy water on him and then go back with the blood for the antidote. With this cheery thought in mind, he nodded at Angelus who met him on his own turn around the circle, then carefully stepped inside as Angelus took his place beside Pryce.

"Are you ready, Mr. Crowley?" Pryce asked quietly.

Crowley braced his legs, tightened his grip on the sword, and took a deep breath. "Do it."

With candles burning on either side of him, and a small bowl in front of him containing a disgusting mixture of things Crowley had picked up at various magic and occult shops, Pryce began his chant. Summoning a hellbeast wasn't that hard if you had the proper words in the right language and all the ingredients. Lucky for humanity that few humans ever got it right. But Pryce, he knew, would get it right. So he waited, heart pounding in his chest, muscles tensed for action.

Within a few minutes he sensed the stir in the air, something like static electricity, then came the smell, the whiff of brimstone and something even more vile. Then, with a roar, Xanyrihnx was there. As prepared as Crowley told himself he was, he still involuntarily took a step back and nearly stumbled as he admitted to himself he hadn't really been prepared for _this_. How in the name of everything Above and Below had Aziraphale marched out to do battle with these things as often as he had and lived to tell of it?

Xanyrihnx was huge, looking like some horrifying mix of dragon and saber-toothed tiger, with the hide of a rhinoceros and the temper and strength of a maddened bull elephant; thank whoever that he at least only had one head. The beast was pissed from being called here from his cozy den Down Below and was looking for a target to vent its rage. It's yellow eyes glowed bright as it spotted Crowley. When it whipped its head around, open jaws ready to crunch bone and rip flesh, it met the demon's sword. Crowley swung with all his might. The blade barely made a dent in the beast's armor-like hide, and in the next moment Crowley found himself flying through the air as its tail gave him a mighty swipe. He heard Pryce and Angelus yelling, and he managed to control his fall and skid to a halt bare inches from the circle's perimeter. 

Snarling, he was on his feet in an instant, wings bursting forth. Razor-sharp talons missed him by a whisper as he took to the air, soaring around to try to outmaneuver those whip-fast reflexes as Xanyrihnx took another swipe at him, roaring its displeasure. "Eat this, brimstone breath," Crowley muttered under his breath as he delivered an almighty blow to that seemingly impervious neck. The only really vulnerable place on a hellbeast was its underbelly, but you had to keep hacking at the creature, trying to wear it down so that it was possible for you to slip past those slashing claws and razor-sharp teeth to get to it. He jerked back out of the way of those snapping jaws, but then another blow from the thrashing tail slammed him into the ground. 

He yelped as he felt ribs snap and struggled to get out from under the weight of the surprisingly heavy tail pinning him down. Just as the beast twisted around, jaws open, ready to crush his head, the weight was suddenly gone from Crowley's chest. He sprang up and immediately took to the air, watching as Xanyrihnx snarled and writhed, apparently in pain. At the outside of the circle, Crowley could see Pryce standing with one of those water rifles, coolly firing a devastatingly accurate stream of holy water at the maddened beast. He used the moment of distraction to raise his sword up, then brought it down like pile driver, right behind the beast's ear. But before he could pull it out again, Xanyrihnx reared up on its hind legs and twisted around. Crowley screamed as five long talons sank into his side. He took a moment to be grateful he wasn't skewered like a shish kabob, then immediately let go of the sword, managing just barely not to scream again as he strained his wing muscles and pulled himself free, bleeding like a stuck pig. 

And he'd lost his fucking sword.

Ignoring the pain screaming through his body, he swooped and soared, keeping just ahead of Xanyrihnx's moves and wishing he'd exercised his wings more. Then, as Pryce let loose with another volley of holy water, Angelus called to him from the edge of the circle. Whirling around, he saw a sword flying through the air toward him. He dove, caught it deftly, and turned in mid-air to once again face the hellbeast. It had been too long since he'd engaged in real battle, he realized grimly; but it was time to remember his true nature.

The battle may have lasted minutes or it may have been hours. It could have been days for all Crowley knew; time had no meaning, and it was all a blur of pain and fury and fear. His body was covered with bleeding, burning slashes, his wings tattered and torn, and broken bones grated agonizingly as he hacked away at the snarling beast while trying to avoid more damage to himself. Pryce followed their progress from the side and was taking deadly aim with his holy water guns when Crowley was clear. The last shot -- an unbelievable shot that Crowley hadn't thought any human could make -- had blinded Xanyrihnx in one eye, which finally gave Crowley a much needed advantage. 

Due to his damaged wings he was having trouble maneuvering, but he managed to avoid a swipe of deadly claws and dove under the snapping jaws to reach Xanyrihnx's blind side. He didn't have the strength to draw this out much longer, and desperate times called for desperate measures, so…

He swooped clumsily under the slashing claws, hissing when the hellbeast scored another hit more by luck than design, and reached his target. He drove the sword deep into the underbelly of the beast straight into its heart. " _Die_ , you bastard," he snarled. With its roar ringing in his ears he instantly transformed into a snake as the monstrous beast collapsed, and shot out from underneath before he could be crushed.

As soon as he was out he transformed back into his human form, shaking with exhaustion and pain. It had been a close thing; he hadn't been sure he had the strength for the transformation, but he wouldn't have been quick enough for that maneuver with his damaged human body. As he lay on the ground, panting, too weakened for the moment to move, he was aware of Pryce running over to the dead hellbeast and carefully inserting a syringe to withdraw the needed blood. A pair of black shoes came into view, and he realized with a chill that he was helpless and that Angelus could kill him if he wished. The hellbeast was dead, they had the blood to save Aziraphale, and they didn't need him any more. Well, he wouldn't go down without a fight, even if it meant biting and hair pulling.

"Nice job," Angelus commented, and leaned over to offer his hand. "Are you going to be able to make it back?"

Crowley eyed the hand warily, but he accepted the grip and was pulled carefully to his feet. He had to clench his jaw to keep from moaning, but he straightened his spine, released the vampire's hand and forced his trembling legs to hold him. "I'll make it."

Pryce ran over to join them, the vial of precious blood grasped tightly in his hand. "I've got it," he said breathlessly. Then his eyes widened in horror as he took in Crowley's appearance. "Oh my lord. Mr. Crowley, are you --?"

"I'm fine," he snapped. "We need to go. _Now_."

They went.

 

Pryce speedily took care of the protective wards and was the first one in the apartment, heading straight for the kitchen to prepare the antidote. Cordelia hurried out of the bedroom and came to an abrupt halt when she saw the state of Crowley. "You did win, right?" she asked uncertainly.

"How is he?" Crowley asked brusquely. He was staying on his feet by sheer bloody-minded will power; the twenty minute stomach-churning, tires-squealing drive back here hadn't given him much time to do any real healing, and every inch of his human body felt like it had been slashed, torn, bitten or broken. From the look on the girl's face, he had a sudden terrifying fear that it had all been for nothing.

"He woke up once and asked where you were, then he asked where he was. And now he's…"

"He's what?" Crowley snarled.

Angelus made a warning growl behind him, but Cordelia only gave him a look that could only be called sympathetic. "I can't wake him up. I think he might be in a coma or something."

Without a word he slid past her as Pryce called sharply from the kitchen, "Cordelia! I need you in here. Now."

Crowley felt it as soon as he entered the bedroom. Or rather, he _didn't_ feel it: that tingling sensation, the one he'd known for six millennia, as familiar to him as the feel of his own feathers, telling him Aziraphale was near. "Oh no, you don't," he growled, taking his accustomed seat by the bed, "you don't get away that easy, angel." Aziraphale's human form looked nearly dead, but it wasn't the angel's human he was most worried about. He took a moment to test his own human body and measure the strength he had in reserve. The fight with Xanyrihnx had taken a lot out of him; the bleeding had stopped and he could tend to the broken bones later. His one wing was going to need some serious attention, and he couldn't let that go too long without risking real problems, but it could wait for now.

Crowley took a deep breath, then closed his eyes and let his senses reach out. It scared him how long it took him to locate any evidence of the angel's essence, but finally he found it. He swallowed, steeled himself, then he did something no demon ever willingly did: he reached out and 'touched' it; _this_ was how you took an angel's pulse. It should have been a blinding white jet stream of Good and holiness, powered by Aziraphale's own unique personality, and the force of it should have slammed him into the wall of a house in the next block. But it was barely a trickle now, faint and unsteady, its light flickering uncertainly. And it _hurt_. Even as weak as it was, it gave Crowley a sudden blinding headache, and it took every ounce of his determination not to drop it as a human would drop a hot coal.

"Come on, angel, grab onto the life preserver," he whispered, his voice ragged. "I know you're tired, but you have to hang on a while longer. And damn it, if I can do it, you can do it." And he clamped down hard on that pitiful stream of holiness that was Aziraphale's pulse, and he held on tight.

His body and his own soul was in a state of unrelenting pain, and all his concentration was centered on holding onto Aziraphale, keeping his head above the metaphorical water, so he had no real sense of passing time. But peripherally he was aware of Pryce and the girl rushed into the room and the smell of something disgusting which he assumed could only be the antidote. It was just as well Aziraphale was unconscious for this part.

"All right, Cordelia," Pryce murmured, "just as we discussed. This must be taken while it's hot. So you raise his head, and I'll get as much into him as I can. We need to get him to drink at least half this."

So focused was he in his own task that Crowley couldn't have helped them if they wanted him to, and he was glad they either realized that or simply didn't want his help.

It wasn't easy pouring liquid down an unconscious person's throat. Much of it spilled out the corners of the angel's mouth, dripping down his chin, and Crowley had to fight the urge to miracle it away. Aziraphale would have hated being so untidy, but Crowley didn't dare let his concentration lapse or redirect his energy for even an instant. He was afraid if he lost his tenuous connection to Aziraphale's essence, he would never get it back again. Eventually Pryce declared that Aziraphale had swallowed enough, and Cordelia gently wiped the angel's chin until all trace of the greenish liquid was gone. 

"What's Mr. Crowley --?"

"Sshh," Pryce interrupted, his voice a whisper. "I don't know, but I'm certain it has something to do with Mr. Fell. He almost seems as if he's in some sort of trance, and I don't think we should disturb him." He raised his voice a bit. "We've given Mr. Fell the antidote. The instructions didn't give any idea how long we would have to wait for a reaction, or to know if it's working at all, so all we can do now is wait. We'll leave you alone, but Cordelia and I will be in regularly to check on him."

Then Pryce ushered out the girl, and Crowley was left in silence as he continued his struggle to anchor Aziraphale to life.

 

Crowley was distantly aware of goings-on around him as the hours -- or was it days? -- passed. Pryce came in at regular intervals, doggedly taking Aziraphale's human pulse and temperature and murmuring to himself as he checked the state of the sigils on the angel's body; the girl kept bringing him fresh cups of tea, setting them on the night stand and taking away the untouched ones. But the only thing that really mattered to Crowley was that his headache was getting worse: Aziraphale's essence was getting stronger. 

He waited it out as long as he could, allowing the occasional whimper to escape, then steeled himself and gave a cautious mental 'nudge' to test the limits of the angel's growing strength. He grunted sharply as Aziraphale unconsciously pushed back. "Bastard," he muttered ruefully, rubbing his forehead. He wasn't going to be able to maintain his hold much longer because the growing potency of holiness was threatening to make him very sick indeed, and if he didn't break off soon, nothing less than a visit Down Below would be able to restore him; and that was something he didn't want to contemplate. But neither did he want to sever their tie until he was absolutely sure Aziraphale was going to be able to hold on by himself. Bracing himself, he gathered his power and sent out a challenging push that was the mental equivalent of a sharp elbow to the ribs. He had expected a response; however, he hadn't expected to be blown out of his chair and ending up in a heap on the floor, grabbing his head and moaning, "Ow, ow, ow."

There was an immediate thunder of footfalls as Angelus and the two humans ran into the room.

"What happened?"

"What was that noise?"

"Where's Mr. Crowley?"

"Mr. Crowley is busy passing out on the floor," he muttered. Then in a louder voice, he said, "I think he's back."

"Mr. Fell!" Pryce hurried over to the bed. "You're awake!"

A pair of Hugo Boss sandals and ten brightly painted toenails appeared in his line of sight. "Mr. Crowley, what are you doing down there? Are you okay?"

"Fine, fine," he muttered, slowly working his way to his knees, and then pulling himself back up into the chair. When he looked up it was to be confronted by a blessedly animated, if pale, face and a pair of knowing blue eyes. "Crowley, my dear, whatever have you done to yourself?"

"He fought the hellbeast," Cordelia informed him matter-of-factly. "I know it doesn't look like it, but he won."

"The hellbeast," Aziraphale repeated slowly, in an odd tone. "I see."

"Cordelia," Pryce said in a loud voice and a little urgently, "I'm sure Mr. Fell would love a cup of tea."

"Oh, sure." Cordelia turned her bright smile on the angel. "Some more of that nice Lady Grey tea?"

Pryce steered the girl away from the bed and toward the door, "Perhaps this time some nice, bracing _Earl_ Grey tea."

"Is that the man's version? Wesley, does that mean you drink girls' tea?"

"Lady Grey is not a 'girls' tea'," Pryce corrected, a little stiffly. "It's simply a lighter, fruitier tea --"

"For lighter, fruitier --"

"Cordelia!"

Angelus rolled is eyes, gave a long-suffering sigh, and followed them out the door. "Children, we have company…"

 

Aziraphale felt as if he'd been asleep for a very long time, something he wasn't used to at all. His muscles felt stiff and achy, and there was a lingering, unfamiliar weakness in his human body. He remembered the poison racing through his system, the attempts to slow it down, and the realization he was dying. He remembered something else too: a dark, demonic strength that wouldn't be repelled, one that didn't destroy, but rather supported and sustained. A Presence that kept him afloat when he was in danger of sinking. He studied the drawn face of the demon by his side, took in the painful-looking cuts and bruises and the careful way he was sitting in the chair. 

"You look terrible," Aziraphale told him gently.

Crowley snorted. "You're not exactly the picture of blooming health yourself."

"A hellbeast did all that?" he asked, nodding a head at Crowley's visible injuries. 

Crowley started to cross his legs, winced, then shifted in his chair, carefully not putting any pressure on his back. "Don't know how you put up with those things, angel," he said, not quite managing the nonchalant note he tried to inject in his tone. "They're very annoying."

_And I assume I did the rest_. From the state of him, Crowley must have been in contact with his essence for a very long time, and even at its weakest point, the holy energy would have made him very ill indeed. He was amazed that the demon was still conscious and sitting up on his own when what he very obviously needed was sleep and a substantial amount of healing. Aziraphale looked at him critically, deciding since Crowley didn't have the strength to do for himself, he could be forgiven for a little angelic interference.

Aziraphale let his eyes slide shut. "Crowley," he murmured weakly. "Could you…?"

"What? What's wrong?" Crowley leaned forward with a slight frown, and in one smooth movement Aziraphale lifted his hand and touched the demon's forehead. With a little sigh, Crowley slumped over onto the bed, asleep. Aziraphale let his hand rest on the dark hair, absently combing it into place. "I'll apologize later, my dear. But it really is for the best." There was the Agreement, and then there were the unspoken agreements between them. Aziraphale had just broken one of them, but in this case he felt justified.

Summoning his returning energy, the angel focused and set about healing the many and varied injuries of the body under his hand, and ensuring that Crowley enjoyed a long and healing sleep.

 

The first thing Crowley saw when he opened his eyes was the beaming face of Aziraphale. The second thing he saw was the steaming cup of tea held out to him. "I had a feeling you'd be waking up soon. Tea? English Breakfast," he clarified.

Crowley pushed himself into a sitting position and for a moment wondered how he came to be the one in the bed while Aziraphale was the one in the chair. Then he accepted the cup of tea and gave the angel a glowering look. "Something you'd like to tell me, angel?"

Aziraphale had the grace to blush. "I do apologize, Crowley. But you were in no condition to heal yourself, and you were only in that condition at all because of me." Leaning over, he patted the demon gently on the arm. "Thank you for that, my dear. Wesley and Cordelia told me about the hellbeast, and I know what else you did."

Crowley squirmed uncomfortably and busied himself with the tea. "Don't make a big deal out of it," he mumbled.

"Wouldn't dream of it," the angel said with a sweet smile. 

"How long…?"

"Only two days." Aziraphale frowned worriedly. "You'll want to be careful with your left wing for a few more days though. You lost quite a few feathers, and there were some very nasty tears."

Crowley stretched his back muscles. "It's not aching."

"No, but it'll mostly likely be a little weak at first."

"Well, we're not flying back to London the old-fashioned way, so it should be fine." He finished his tea and handed the cup back. "Where is everyone?" Giving the angel a pointed look, he added, "And why are we still here?"

Answering the questions in reverse order, Aziraphale replied, "I didn't want to move you until you'd fully recovered, and everyone is currently enjoying a very nice dinner. We've been invited to join them," he added mischievously.

Crowley pretended to think. "Let's see, have a nice, leisurely dinner at the most expensive restaurant in Los Angeles, courtesy of you…or eat with a vampire and two humans. Difficult choice."

Aziraphale got to his feet with a smile. "I already told them we wouldn't be staying."

"That's what I like about you, angel --"

"But we are going to say a proper good-bye and thank them for all they did."

"Of course we are," Crowley muttered ungraciously as he got out of bed and miracled himself fully and impeccably clothed. "Well, let's get it over with."

Aziraphale smiled indulgently as he steered Crowley out of the bedroom. "That's the spirit, dear."

 

They found Angelus and his two humans just finishing up their meal when they came out of the bedroom. Pryce immediately came to his feet with a smile, but before he could say anything, the vampire spoke up, "So, you'll be leaving then?"

"Angel," Pryce reproached under his breath. 

"That's right, vampire," Crowley said cheerfully. "We're leaving."

"Crowley, really," Aziraphale murmured.

Crowley saw the angel and Pryce exchange a look and a sigh, apparently silently agreeing that demons had no manners. 

"We wanted to thank you," Aziraphale said with heartfelt politeness, "for everything you've done. For both of us," he added with a pointed glance at Crowley.

"We're just glad you're both alive," Cordelia said brightly. Then she seemed to think that over and amended, "At least, most of us are. Glad, that is."

Aziraphale walked over to her and gently took her hand. "I meant what I said before about your courage and compassion, Cordelia. Your path may not always be easy, but I have faith you will remain steadfast and bear your burden with dignity and grace." And then, being the old-fashioned, courtly angel he was, he kissed her hand.

Staring up into his eyes with something like awe, Cordelia breathed, "Wow." Then, giving her head a shake, she said, "I mean, thank you. I mean, I will. I'll try."

Aziraphale bestowed another smile on her and then turned to the vampire. "Angel," he said politely. "Perhaps we'll meet again." He looked like he was about to say more, then changed his mind and simply inclined his head.

The vampire merely nodded, but at a look from Pryce, added, "Aziraphale."

When the angel reached Pryce, he was smiling fondly. "I trust you've taken good care of David Copperfield, my boy."

Pryce was gazing at him with an adoration that was a little sickening to behold, and Crowley saw with a smug grin that apparently Angelus thought so too. "It's one of my most prized possessions, Mr. Fell."

"Splendid. Books are wonderful possessions, Wesley, but good friends are an even greater treasure, and in that you are truly blessed." He took Pryce's hand and pressed it between his. "Thank you for all you did, my boy. Be safe, and stay well, and I truly hope we meet again."

"So do I, Mr. Fell."

Turning to Crowley, Aziraphale prompted, "Crowley? Don't you have something to say?"

There were many things Crowley had to say, most of which would have annoyed Aziraphale no end, but at the moment he didn't feel much like annoying him. Standing by as Aziraphale said his good-byes, he found himself watching the angel and experiencing a rare (for him) combination of gratitude and contentment. The angel's influence, no doubt. He let his concealed gaze sweep the three members of Angel Investigations. He owed all these people a debt, which was not the kind of situation in which any demon wanted to find himself. So how did a demon like himself repay such a obligation? 

"I'll make it a point to never cross paths with any of you again," he told them with a nod to each of them. They actually all looked relieved and Aziraphale patted him gently on the arm and gave him a "Well done, Crowley."

Crowley clapped his hands together. "So. Who knows the most expensive restaurant in Los Angeles? A certain someone owes me a dinner."

"Bastide on Melrose," Cordelia replied immediately. When everyone looked at her, she shrugged. "Hey, according to Lifestyle last weekend it was not only the best, but the most expensive place in town."

"That sounds like the one, angel." Lightly taking Aziraphale's elbow he steered him to the door. They were going to celebrate tonight, and they were not only going to do it in style, but on Aziraphale's credit card. Life was good…when you were alive to enjoy it.

"Wait," Cordelia called after them as they went out the door, "you'll need reservations!"

Crowley and Aziraphale just looked at each other and grinned, sharing an unlikely affection and an age-old joke. Reservations were for other people.

##### fin


End file.
